Yet Another Potter Plot Bunny Farm
by bleeb90
Summary: This fic will contain: A) Little fantasies about how a little thing could go different, and it's immediate result(s). B) Plot Bunnies that most likely will never bloom into a full story. C) Stabbing at tropes. If anything, I'd be flattered if you start to work with my ideas (I try to aim for some modicum of originality), just send me a link of what you made out of it. Reviews FTW!
1. The accursed name

**The accursed name**

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><p>"Why <em>'Nymphadora'<em>?!" She screamed the fourteen year old, exasperated with her parents.

Andromeda said nothing, but arched her eyebrow imperiously.

"I know they called _you_ 'Andromeda', but why on earth did you have to take your daughter down with you?"

Ted had to constrain himself from making a facepalm. He had been a Ravenclaw in his time, and while he and his Slytherin wife were surprised to find their daughter in the Hufflepuff house, he couldn't condone such stupidity. Half research was no research at all. Just because the girl was likely to score E's on her Astronomy OWL exams next year didn't mean she suddenly knew more than her parents.

"If my being a metamorphmagus isn't bad enough, and all the boys see me as a walking, talking sex toy, I can't walk through the great hall without hearing a 'Nympha/nympho mania' joke. It sickens me!"

Nymphadora made a sound of frustration as her mother and father sat on the couch, with their faces completely devoid of any emotion.

"If you were so dead-set on following a tradition of a family that tossed you out, there were better choices you know! You could have called me – "

"Demeter? After some insignificant moon of Jupiter and the goddess of _grains_ and the underworld?"

"Well, obviously not, but – "

"An Uranian moon then? Miranda?"

"Yes, for the love of Merlin, why didn't you call me Miranda?!"

"Tssk. If I am going to use Shakespeare there are better names to choose from. Never mind, the Blacks chose to name their spawn after celestial bodies because of the mythological names."

"But Miranda is – "

"Out of the question," Andromeda interrupted her daughter.

"Now, we know Uranus has more moons than that. Ariel then?" Said the woman, sarcasm clear in her voice.

Ted snorted at the expression on his daughters face.

"Honey, Uranus' moon Ariel is also called after a Shakespearian play, never mind the fact that I, as a muggleborn, can't think of the name without remembering that horrible fairy tale of Hans Christian Andersen – and be glad, a year ago they released a Disney movie about it, no muggle wouldn't lay in stitches after you introduced yourself."

"Like they wouldn't right now," Nymphadora muttered sarcastically.

"Exactly," said Andromeda with a visible nod to Ted, completely ignoring her daughter's commentary. "Next moon then, Umbriel – oh get that look of your face, Nymphadora, that were my thoughts exactly, never mind the fact that that sounds awfully much like Umbridge, and let me tell you, I do not want my child even remotely associated with a family that has no qualms about interbreeding with _Marshes_* of all things. Heck, I would have called you Hag-who-feeds-on-childrens-livers before I would have called you anything that remotely sounds like Umbridge. I may come from a family that excelled in and taught me the arts of non-personal sacrificial Dark Magic, but there is stuff that even I cannot stomach. In other words: No."

Andromeda had a grim statisfaction at seeing her daughter look kind of greenish. So she faked a smile and happily went on.

"Titania then? Not only does it remind one of giants, once again, it's Shakespeare."

Ted took over.

"Honey, the Black family is known to love grand things. So naming you after a very small piece of rock in our own star system doesn't have the appropriate grandeur. Your mother is named after both a galaxy and constellation – take your pick. Your cousin Sirius is named after a star far bigger than our sun. And while we might not like your aunt Bellatrix, she has a constellation for herself and there is the crux – "

"What about aunt Narcissa then, her name clearly isn't from a celestial body!"

Andromeda snorted.

"And Narcissa is the youngest, produced after the heir and the spare, even if Bellatrix and I were both girls. Not to mention she looks vastly different from the rest of the family. And while nobody dares to gossip about the Blacks afraid of being cursed into oblivion, the rumour that my mother had an affair with Abraxas Malfoy won't die for a reason."

"But, but," Nymphadora sputtered.

"But that would make your aunt Narcissa and uncle Lucius half siblings*, yes I know. Coincidentally, she doesn't have a drop of Black-blood in her veins. Mother was a Rosier after all. Honestly, your cousin Draco is seven years old, but he doesn't look like the brightest lumos in the classroom, now does he?"

"Well..."

"There is a reason I ran away from home and married a muggleborn, Nymphadora. Before she lost it and went completely around the bend, I used to pity Bellatrix."

"More than your sister whom was forced to marry her HALF-SIBLING?!"

"Well, yes. I believe Trixy's spouse neglected her in favour of her brother in law. Cissy never had such problems because rumour has it that when the previous lady Malfoy heard about the existence of my youngest sister, she hexed Abraxas' bits off, pickled them and placed them in a jar on the mantle."

"Ew!"

"Indeed. Mind you, first and foremost I wanted to give birth to healthy children. The worst fear of every proper pureblood girl was to end up giving birth to a squib! In my rebellious phase I decided to read muggle science and came across Darwin. Especially his own private research on the development of his own children – he married his first cousin you see... And their grandparents were each others third cousins. Did you know that some of Darwin's children were rumoured to be infertile? It didn't take too long for me to be completely cured from all pureblood mania. The thought of giving birth to a squib, or an infertile child... I didn't even want to risk the results of fornication with a half blood, let alone a pureblood to whom I was related."

"But...?"

"They had a contract for me and my first cousin Regulus."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed. Not only were they angry that I'd refused to marry that spineless worm of a cousin whom was coincidentally the product of two second cousins, but for me to state that I had forsaken my 'duty to my family' in favour of conciously fornicating with a muggleborn added insult to the injury."

"This story has a tail, hasn't it?"

"Oh yes, it has. You see, mother and aunt Walburga didn't take their vindication out of uncle Orion's act of burning me off the family tree, revoking my fidelus rights on the knowledge of the Black Family Grimoire, and cursing me to never be able to carry either the Black name and name my spawn after celestial bodies."

"Wait – you mean to tell me Nymphadora isn't some Merlin-forsaken star in a forgotten corner of the universe? It is just your typical magical name of Greek or Roman descent? Do you mean to tell me that out of all the Geek and Roman names you could have chosen an archaic name from, you _had_ to choose Nymphadora of all names? What on earth were the two of you thinking?!"

"Well, Dora dear," began Ted after sighing heavily.. "on our wedding day your grandmother Druella and great aunt Walburga came to protest against our marriage. When your mother said once again, in front of our bonder and an entire audience, that she didn't want to marry her cousin Regulus in favour of a muggleborn with actual prospects, because she thought said muggleborn would give her healthier children than Regulus ever could... They snapped."

Andromeda took her husbands hand and took over.

"Mother and aunt Walburga wasted no time at all. Aunt Walburga had uncle Orion waiting at the other end of the mirror, to clear me off the family-tree for once and for all. What's worse, they announced in front of the audience that attended our wedding that hereby I would be Andromeda No-name, and especially no relation to the Blacks. Then, they cursed both Ted and I barren."

Nymphadora raised an eyebrow.

"If you want to confess you did a blood adoption, now is the time."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dora dear. You have seen the photo's of my pregnancy, haven't you? After seven hours of excruciating labour, I will not tolerate any silly notions about you being adopted."

"But you just told me you both were cursed barren."

"Indeed we were. So your mother and I went to Greece, in search of the waters of the Nereids, or Nymphs as the muggles would call them, in the hope to prove ourselves as worthy enough to get an audience, with faith in the rumours of their sexual and fertility magic. Let me tell you, Veela allure won't bother you at all after the Nereid are through with you!"

"Ted," interjected Andromeda. "This is neither the time or place to reminisce the week we spend with the Nereid."

For a second, Ted looked annoyed to be ruthlessly awoken from his daydream before he spoke again.

"Right. So your mum and I were walking in Greece, hoping to find the Nereid and suddenly a chameleon falls down the tree, right into the water."

"...A chameleon?" Asked Nymphadora, feeling rather skeptic.

"Yes, so Andromeda spares no thought before she rushes into the water to save the poor thing from drowning. That act of human kindness endeared us to the Nereid, especially because they can sense intentions and sincerity." He smiled at his wife, who took this as her cue.

"After I put the chameleon safely on shore, the Nereid wasted no time pulling us into the depths of the water to fully expose us to and immerse us in their magics. It was overwhelming, intoxicating and arousing. They spent five days dissolving the curse your grandmother and great aunt put on the both of us. The sixth day they made us fertile again, and the seventh day, when you were conceived, they gifted you with a strong magic – the magic of the chameleon I saved."

Andromeda smiled softly at the memory.

"Of course, when you were born you did so in a typical fashion for methapmorphmagi, or so we read afterwards. It was a very dangerous delivery, and we couldn't have any more children than you. So I still didn't live my dream of giving birth to an entire quidditch team."

Silent with shock, Nymphadora couldn't do any more than nod.

Ted smiled kindly at his daughter.

"Not only does Nymphadora literally mean 'gift of the nymphs', we made the conscious choice of not naming you Nymphodora – the more common version – because we made the connection to Nymphomania as well, but also because we didn't want our daughter's name to have any connection to a name of some fourth century martyr turned saint and therefore a religion that saw many of our people burned on a pyre."

Andromeda smiled vindictively before she added her two knuts.

"Not to mention that the name Nymphadora is indeed always mistaken for the name of some celestial body, implying that we did indeed find a way to circumvent the curse of me and my descendants being able to name our children after celestial bodies. I know for a fact that my mother had a conniption when she read your name in the birth announcement in the Daily Prophet. It happened in the middle of the Diagon Alley, some friends were kind enough to show the memory."

Nymphadora looked confused.

"And _why_ is that a good thing?"

We've managed to break the curse that should have made us spend our lives miserable and barren; they think we've managed to break the curse to name our children after celestial bodies. By default they will believe I can declare myself a daughter of the House of Black if I feel like it, and remember the curses from the grimoire they taught me. Why do you think Ted and I have spell-design as a hobby? We re-invent the curses I don't remember the how-to of. Even if we have to recreate them, and slightly alter them, they won't realize that when we cross wands. Mostly, they'll be scared shitless because they think we can overcome anything they throw at us.

"Again, why is that a good thing?" Nymphadora asked, still as confused as before.

"Because they believe we could easily have the upperhand even if we don't act on it. It looks like I wash my hands of the Black name, rather than the Black name washing it's hands of me. It's all power play, and at the end of the day that's the reason why they don't randomly curse any of us when we have the misfortune of meeting them in public."

"Hmmmpf."

"Dora dear?"

"Yes dad?"

"Do you understand and accept why we named you like this?"

"...Yes, but I still don't like it."

"And you are free to do so, but if you'd like, we'll just call you Dora from now on."

"Thanks dad. Hey, do you think you can fidelus the 'Nympha' part on my birth certificate?"

"Forget it, Dora."

The teen threw her arms up in exasperation, and stomped out of the room.

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><p><strong>AN  
><strong>***The Mad Reviewer** wrote a story called '**Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool**' (lovely fanfic, btw), and in the end of it, Madam Umbridge is portrayed as someone of a family that interbreeds with Marshes, a creation of **H.P. Lovecraft**. While I must admit that I still haven't read Lovecraft, the way the Mad Reviewer portrayed Umbridges affinity with the Marsh family was brilliant.

* A concept shamelessly stolen from the parody '**Oh God Not Again!**' by **Sarah1281**, another brilliant fanfic!


	2. Thank you, Fenrir

**Thank you, Fenrir**

Warning: Harry-whumping or non explicit rape.  
>I'm sorry, it had to be done.<p>

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><p>01-07-1996<p>

Harry was sitting on a swing on the Little Whinging playground, having a pity party about Sirius' death – nothing could ease the pain, not even the vindication he might have gotten otherwise out of the knowledge of the insignificant part he had played in making Voldemort lose his concentration in his duel with Dumbledore, which gave the latter just enough of an edge to do the former in. Permanently this time. Of course, the media liked to get it all out of proportion, and he had his name in the spotlight, again.

How he longed for anonymity. What did he care if people could recognize him or not? It only ever brought him misery.

His fame had no influence whatsoever on the fact that his godfather was dead, and would remain so. His fame certainly didn't help his situation with the Dursleys – if they'd knew they'd laugh in his face telling him just how pathetic he was, they'd probably even conquer their hatred of all things unnatural in order to make him a cash cow and milk his fame for all the money it was worth.

The filthy hypocrites.

Suddenly there was a rustle from behind. Before he could register what was happening, a huge hand with filthy yellow nails came from behind with a handkerchief.

…

The next thing he knew, he woke up with a pounding headache. What happened to him? Why was he so cold? As he tried to look at himself he noticed that he was laying face down on a damp concrete floor, naked and shackled. Not a favourable position to find oneself in, he couldn't help but think sardonically. Before he could further assess his situation or even search for possible ways to escape he heard soft footsteps, and soon, there was a pair of bare, hairy feet in front of his face, with filthy, yellow nails to go with the ones on the huge hand he had seen just before he had passed out.

The owner of the feet crouched down and grabbed Harry's hair and yanked it roughly, successfully bending Harry's head backwards in an awkward position, straining his neck painfully. In doing so the individual ensured that Harry saw that his attacker was naked as well. And that it wasn't just his hands and feet that were huge. Harry knew instantly that this was a Very Bad Situation to find himself in. Finally he was eye to eye with his assailant. Amber eyes that showed lycanthropy, and an expression that didn't promise anything good. It was a horrendous face that smiled lecherously at him. He knew that face, he had seen it before in the Daily Prophet's issue about mass breakout from Azkaban. It was Fenrir Greyback, one of the few Death Eaters elusive enough to remain at large.

Harry gulped.

"Good instincts, whelp. I smell your fear, and you are wise to fear me."

"What do you want?" Harry asked, sounding braver than he felt.

"I want what my Lord has promised me."

"What have I got to do with that? He's dead, in case you haven't noticed!"

Harry had the sinking feeling that what would be done to him this time would not be another resurrection ritual of Lord Voldemort.

"Why, whelp," said Fenrir, while his lecherous smile only grew; showing a pointy, grimy denture which would have Mr and Mrs Granger recoil in sheer horror. "My Lord promised me your flesh."

The man suddenly slammed Harry's head down into the floor, effectively breaking his nose in the process, and mounted Harry, who was trying his hardest to keep his wits. It was clear that he relished in Harry's helplessness as he took his time, simply enjoying the sound of the trouble the boy had with breathing because he sat on his back. One hand squeezed the boy's forehead while another squeezed his jaw, making it in such a way that he couldn't utter a sound. The man with the bestial appearance pushed Harry's head to one side so that one cheek now lied in the pool of his own blood which his smashed nose just had provided. The werewolf licked over the entire length of Harry's face, grinning at the sound of his increasing rapid breath and the futile struggling and squirming underneath him.

"Normally," Fenrir said, "you might be a bit old for my tastes, but I have already fed you a potion for that. Now you look about half of your age you are a lot more than appetizing to me. And I have drank a potion myself, so I'll be at it _all night_. I don't know if you're aware of the moon cycle, so I'll erase all doubts for you: tonight will be a full moon. I will not stop when I change shape, and when that happens, my teeth will already be buried deeply into your neck. That pretty unmarred flesh of yours will be ripped in all directions when my jaw widens and elongates while my teeth grow. The scar I will give you will be a true piece of art. Know that I will love it if you scream, and that every wriggle you will make in the hopes of getting closer to freedom will excite me even more. I promise you that this will undoubtedly be the longest night of your miserable existence."

Knowing that what came next would be inevitable, Harry began to cry silently.

Fenrir's lecherous grin suddenly turned maniacal while he hit his victim at the back of his head.

"Whelp! You have nothing to cry about yet! You were part in my Lord's downfall, and you will regret it. If it's the last thing I do I will make you rue the day you have learned of my name," he all but growled. With those words he positioned himself, plunged into the crying boy, savoring the pained screams that followed. Fenrir Greyback made good on his promise.

…

As luck would have it, assaulting Harry turned out to be the last thing Fenrir did, indeed. Tired of an entire night as a wolf, of an entire night giving in to his physical need for debauchery, of the transformation, the man had been too out of it; too tired to fight the quickly assembled rescue team that the order had thrown together.

Everyone was amazed that Harry was still alive. He was brought to Saint Mungo's in his eight year old body – courtesy of Greyback – with his scar glamoured as they all thought it was the most efficient way for Harry to get the best treatment and the most privacy at that.

His injuries spoke for themselves. Half of his neck had been teared apart, and it had been festering ever since the moment he was rescued. His left ear was bitten and torn beyond repair, and the healers said they'd need the entire month to work on his right arm that had been used as a chew toy.

His nose turned out to be a trickier injury than he thought as well. They had to reset the bones properly before they could magically knit them together. There wasn't a single rib that wasn't cracked after a night under Fenrir's weight. His pulverized pelvis was terribly hard for the healers to mend, because they were scared of missing some pieces of the bone. They said it could be disastrous if there remained any before they gave him skelegrow, or Merlin forbid, before he changed into a wolf and all the bits of bone would transfigure themselves separately. Crazily enough, the anal tearing the was easiest to heal.

"Wizards haven't got an ounce of common sense," the muggleborn healer had said to Harry. "The things they have tried to shove up their arse, or the kind of activities they choose to participate in after doing their spousal duty and produce an heir are truly mindboggling. It is one of the first things we learn during healer training, and the first thing they want to saddle interns with."

In fact, his bones were in such a sorry state that the healers were discussing the advantages of vanishing every last piece of bone and cartilage in him, and regrowing it all with a royal overdose of skelegrow. Not that it already was an option right now. The Order had been very ambiguous when it came to Harry's identity, or whomever had guardianship over him. And while Remus Lupin couldn't be cursed away from Harry's bedside if they tried, it was clear that the man had no parental rights over Harry. The only thing that the healers could do immediately was having a master in the mind magics visit him. The man had been kind enough to erase the emotions that came with that horrid experience. It ensured that he knew the facts of what happened, how it happened, and what he had been through, but not the emotional baggage. Again, the man couldn't obliviate more than the emotions without parental consent, and this was as much as he could help Harry.

The new lycanthrope didn't mind that part though. He was glad that he could remember the cold facts about how his body was mangled to such a degree. It'd be worse to end up with such a body and have no recollection of how it ended up in that state. But he could still remember it all, however abstract he might find those memories had become. That being said, he was even gladder that he didn't have the fear of human contact and flashbacks he had before his emotions had been obliviated. The kind that muggle rape-victims had to deal with.

Whomever came up with the idea to obliviate the painful emotions rather than memories, leaving a clinical detachment deserved an Order of Merlin, in Harry's opinion.

Remus spend as much time as possible at his bedside, shamelessly milking the fact that the pediatric department that was treating Harry, which meant that visiting hours were a lot more flexible. Remus made sure to speak a lot with Harry, about the damage that Fenrir Greyback had done to the two of them, about acknowledging the wolf that was constantly there in the back of his head, rumbling in the background. How to deal with the wolf, and the strong instincts that would inevitably surge with them from time to time. His new physiology, and what to take into account before undertaking anything in living his life he wouldn't have thought twice about otherwise. About the legislation that would restrict him left and right to hinder him in everyday life. The racism he'd face. Remus did everything to ensure Harry would be ready when he'd leave the hospital.

Remus was still by his bedside when a week into his hospital stay, a representative of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures appeared. She was nothing short of the Spanish Inquisition trying to make sure it wasn't Remus who had bit him – no, he was the child the Order had found while apprehending Greyback. Yes, Greyback had sired Remus as well, but in no way Remus wanted to subjugate the child with his evil werewolfishness. Harry had trouble not to grab his secretly hidden wand and curse the woman into next week. The saddest thing about it all was that Remus couldn't even muster the righteous indignation about being treated like that. Would he end up like that?

"You will be registered as werewolf 01071996-UK-02. Remember that number. You will need it for all your legal forms, documentation, and you are required to make yourself known under that registration number when seeking education, jobs, notify all magical sentient beings within 5 miles of your living and/or transforming space, and you are required to make yourself known immediately should you travel abroad. In that case, the country to which you are traveling will notify you of your restrictions. Capisce?" The antagonistic tone couldn't be missed.

"Capisce."

"Good, next point; werewolves cannot belong to distinguished pureblood lines, so if you are carrying a magical surname, I'm afraid you'll have to choose a new one – _it's the law_."

Harry couldn't help but wonder whether Umbridge had learned to smile from this woman.

He could see the malice in the woman's eyes. She enjoyed this. His eyes darted from the woman to Remus, silently asking confirmation.

With a sigh, the man nodded. "Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C: No werewolf is allowed to associate their name with a pureblood name. That happened after some Russian werewolf managed to use his prominent family name as an instrument in the Revolution to get close to the right person in order to do his part. It scared entire ruling class of magical Europe, and no werewolf was allowed to have a magical name anymore. Mind you, the fact that it was one individual that hung out with a group of idealistic muggles and squibs is completely ignored..."

"Huh... I'm always learning something around you, Remus. Ma'am, as an orphan I'm currently living with my muggle relatives who abhor magic, I'm certain that they won't let me darken their doorstep more then I already do – as a werewolf I won't be welcome there. Could I have another werewolf have me adopt me, like Remus Lupin for example?"

"If the dog wants to share it's doghouse, it's his problem." She said with a derisive snort. "In fact, having parents or guardians not wanting a werewolf in their home is normal business. Here, if you fill this form with his name, and your new name, it'll file itself the moment you magically claim your new name."

Harry realized that he too was already letting the barbs slide, it just wasn't worth the fight. Especially not with the satisfaction he felt from Remus' pleased smile who had already accepted the papers and started signing them in the appropriate places.

"As an orphan who is about to change his name, how do I prevent a name mix-up with Gringotts?"

"Send a legit notification to Gringotts. It has to have arrived before you change your name, because you are required by law to magically notify your old name as dead within the next fifteen minutes. A bit of a hassle, but what can you do? There's this pesky little law that says you must change your name before I leave, these things can't wait, you see." Her nasty smile grew.

All three of them knew what wasn't said. This was the way people financially crippled werewolves the moment they became one. Bluffed away when the Ministry comes stampeding through and ruin everything you know, one moment of inattention, and you have no way of claiming you were indeed who you were. After all, you'd have a new magical name. The old you was officially dead and magically declaring someone dead being what it is, everyone who was supposed to know would know immediately. Bye bye bank account.

Harry raised an eyebrow while he addressed his guardian-to-be, "I think I can see how you ended up with a name as Remus Lupin, I had always wondered, but I didn't want to pry."

"What can I say," Remus said with a wry smile, "I was five and had to sort it all out by myself because my muggle-mum was screaming herself hoarse at my wizard-dad about racism, nazi's and keeping his apartheid-sentiments away from her son, no matter what species he might be. She couldn't even file a divorce afterward because they'd never let a werewolf live with a muggle. There's a reason why I can sympathize with the antipathy of the family you grew up with," Remus added darkly, though the werewolf let it slide as if he were an enlightened Zen-Buddhist. He smiled immediately afterward.

"On a completely different note though... did you know that a Patronus is recognized as a legally accepted way for fast notifications?"

"Really now?" Harry asked, starting to smile as well.

"Oh yes," Remus nodded with an even bigger smile, "I know you know _Expecto Patronum_, but do you know the ventriloquism spell?"

"Of course, the twins had a whole lot of fun embarrassing me with it, until I turned the tables on them."

Remus snorted. "I imagine. Try _Ventriloquim Patronum_, still concentrate on the happy memory but throw the element of wanting to speak on a different location in."

"That simple?" Harry asked amazed.

"That simple." Remus assured him with a smile.

"Oh yes, and since the ministry wants you to preform magic today, all reasonable magic will be allowed."

"And notifying Gringotts is very reasonable indeed," Harry said with an ever growing smile.

"Good thing I made sure you're able to cast the patronus with both hands." Remus said, looking at Harry's horribly mangled right arm.

"I'll say!"

"Kid, you still have to come up with a name." The nasty woman from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures said, feeling far too out of place with how cheery the kid was despite having his whole life ruined, and having no way of being able to contact Gringotts in time – an eight year old with a Patronus, pfft.

"So Remus, may I assume your last name?"

"Of course, cub. In fact, now infection isn't an issue, I'd be happy to blood adopt you even. How would you like a new face with a new name?"

"I don't know, you're rather springing this on me. I'd have to mull it over."

"That's alright, cub. So, what about Laurence, it can get shortened to Larry?"

"Hmm, I like it. Laurence Lupin. Nice alliteration as well. Now how about a middle name..."

"Kid," the nasty woman interrupted their happy conversation. _You are not allowed to use your parents names. _Not even variations on your mother's or grandmother's maiden name. You are not allowed to sully a decent pureblood family. Don't even think about it!"

"Well," Remus said with a smile, "a dear friend of mine died and I would be honoured if you'd take his name as a middle name."

Harry's eyes widened a bit and knew this byplay was to keep his identity secret until it was too late for the ministry chit.

"Why Remus," Harry began with a big smile, "if you take me in and are becoming the next best thing to a father figure I think I should honour the names you want to give me."

Remus' smile widened when he realized that Harry was on to him.

"Laurence Sirius Lupin, or Larry Lupin for short. I like it, cub."

"Me too."

"Then let me write it down first... There. These papers now say I'm adopting Laurence Sirius Lupin – sign there please, thank you – no escaping that name now, Larry. Now you only have to notify Gringotts first."

"Don't worry, I will. Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C, was it?"

The woman and Remus nodded.

Harry surprised the nasty woman by drawing a wand – after all, he still looked like an eight year old, and he and Remus had done nothing to disabuse her from that notion – and surprised her even more with producing a text-book perfect patronus.

"_Ventriloquim Patronum_, to whomever it may concern: I, Harry James Potter, am by the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C forced to give up my pureblood name, and would like to formally let it be known that henceforth I shall be known as Laurence Sirius Lupin. I repeat, to whomever it may concern, Harry James Potter's name will be legally changed to Laurence Sirius Lupin in accordance to the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C." With that he directed his patronus to Gringotts.

The woman of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was gaping like a fish.

"But... But... I... You..."

"Should I expect more reactions like that, what with the Boy-Who-Lived or whatever it is they call me nowadays suddenly being a scary werewolf?" Asked Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"I suppose so." Remus confirmed. "Then again, within a few minutes you can no longer claim you ever were Harry Potter. Too bad Lily isn't alive to witness this. She'd have raised hell to the point she'd have scared the entire Wizengamot into submission in order to keep you a Potter."

"Really?"

"Really. Your mum was scary!"

"You never really told me much about her, always about dad."

"I mainly hung out with your dad, but that doesn't mean I can't tell you stories about your mum. I should tell you about the time Sirius and James thought to be funny with her knickers –"

"That's it. Ritual. Now." The woman said through clenched teeth. "You'll need to swear a magical vow to shed your old name, and gain a new name. Here you'll find the exact wording." With that she shoved him a parchment in his hand.

_I [your full pureblood name] swear on my life and magic that I shall no longer be [your full pureblood name] and that henceforth I shall be [your chosen name]. On my life and magic, I [your chosen name] do so swear._ Harry read. He would have shrugged if his mauled body allowed it.

"I Harry James Potter swear on my life and magic that I shall no longer be Harry James Potter and that henceforth I shall be Laurence Sirius Lupin. On my life and magic, I Laurence Sirius Lupin do so swear."

Before the woman, who had finally gained her wits, could rip the adoption papers apart, they filed themselves, making Harry – _Larry_ – officially Remus' ward.

"This won't be the end of that, Potter, I assure you." She bit through her teeth, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"Why ma'am, haven't you been paying attention? You're sullying a good pureblood name like that. The name is Lupin. _Do keep up_."

The next thing the young lycanthrope knew, he was staring at a shaking wand between his eyes.

"I think you'll find out you will lose an awful lot of privileges you have taken for granted 'till this day, you filthy animal. If I say you were about to attack me... _Lupin, –_ even crippled and bed bound as you are now – they'll believe my word over yours. From this day on you will not be regarded as fully human. A House Elf will get more respect at the cash register than you. And I'll be there – "

Suddenly, madame Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was staring down the business end of a wand herself.

"Out, you bigoted bitch, out! I won't have you here! Always ransacking through our wards, upsetting patients who are here because they need bed rest, begone you foul woman!"

A lot of high pitched screaming ensued from both parties involved, making the two of the werewolves wince, and after Larry finally declares Harry James Potter dead (while the nurse can't hear whom he is declaring dead due to a nicely timed M_uffliato_ spell from Remus) the Ministry Menace finally leaves.

The nurse did a whole set of diagnostic charms just to make sure he hadn't been overexerted by that short mandatory visit, all the while muttering about how it was the same thing every month with those nasty ministry bigots who couldn't give their patients a second of peace or dignity, and cute little children who deserved better.

When Remus and Larry were finally alone, they both cleared their throat awkwardly, not knowing to do with the silence.

"Well Larry, it always was a toss up to whom of us Sirius would bequeath his ancestral home, but I'll go by Gringotts to check to make sure just in case. What colours would you like on your bedroom walls?"

"Give the walls a nice white undercoating. I think I want to paint them myself. Do you think you could get me a book on how to animate drawings and such?"

"Sure thing, cub. I'll be back with some other books as well, after I have notified Dumbledore that the cat is out of the bag."

"Please do, Remus. Say, could you ask Dumbledore as well if he'd want to enroll another werewolf at Hogwarts, I wouldn't want to miss out on school because a technical detail like enrollment is overseen."

"Sure thing cub, I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Until then, Remus."

…

A full week after her nephew Harry disappeared from the Little Whinging playground, Petunia Dursley received a black parchment letter, with the news that her nephew Harry James Potter had been declared dead that very morning, and that there was no body or ashes for her to claim. Not to mention that she couldn't inherit a single thing due her status as a muggle. A full week after her nephew disappeared, five days after those ruddy freaks came to get all his stuff, just a notification that he was dead. Hours later Vernon came home from his job to find her still staring at the letter in disbelief, not truly seeing it, while remembering the last fifteen years, and wondering if things could have been different.

…

Larry was amazed how quickly his treatment went now the Healers of Saint Mungo's finally had a name, and a guardian. In consultation with the healers on Larry's case, who had finally been let in on the fact that Fenrir Greyback had de-aged him several years, his history of years of malnutrition, they decided to let Remus blood-adopt him, remove all bones, regrow them, pump him up to the brim with vitamines and everything else that was needed to regrow to the age and length a sixteen year old was supposed to be.

Remus told him he wouldn't be bored in his hospital stay because he had enrolled him for his OWL's – he had no business with the dead Harry Potter's OWL's after all – and that he'd tutor him in arithmancy and ancient runes so he'd finally be able to do his OWL's decently.

...

30-07-1996

Larry Lupin had finally grown into his age, length and weight. No longer he was a pipsqueak. In fact, he was a full foot taller than the day before Fenrir had kidnapped him. His added length didn't exactly give him an intimidating posture – after all, he took after his father Remus – but he could live with the person that stared back at him in the mirror these days. Before they had started his intensive treatment they even had a cursebreaker tied under heavy oaths break a curse on his head, and ever since Harry felt lighter than he had ever felt, even with the new presence of a wolf that was always growling in the back of his mind!

He was happy that the healers had declared him healthy enough to have his first transformation in the vicinity of his new father, and he only had to come back the following morning for an additional checkup. It would have been on his birthday too, if he and Remus hadn't decided to put down the day Remus had blood-adopted him – the eighth of July – but that was neither here or there. Today he would walk out of the hospital with a new face, new name, and even a new family.

While he was a little scared about his first transformation, whom would he have rather by his side than Remus? Larry smiled, everything was going to be alright. Between the twelfth and sixteenth of August he would sit his OWL's for Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, DADA, Astronomy, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, History, Divination, COMC, and Muggle Studies and with the stress-free environment he found himself in – not to mention the hours of tutoring of Remus in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and everyone Remus enlisted to tutor Larry for subjects Remus was convinced 'Larry' could do better in than 'Harry' – he actually believed he'd be able to get decent scores.

Things were looking up. More so than they had ever done for Harry Potter.

If it weren't for the fact that they had to obliviate what he had felt during that humiliating encounter with Fenrir Greyback in order to ensure he could continue to function like a normal human being, he'd almost want to thank the tosser. In his gruesome attempt to revenge, he had handed Larry the means to everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter.

…

01-09-1996

Albus Dumbledore loved theater and dramatics more than he cared to admit, so he relished deeply in the sad face he could put on before he began to speak in a grave tone. He even didn't mind the little beetle on his shoulder. After all, he had invited it. For once, he wished for wild speculation.

"Welcome to another year in Hogwarts, it is with great regret that I have to inform you that one of your peers has been attacked by the notorious werewolf Fenrir Greyback during the summer holidays. While he survived the initial attack, it was in accordance to the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C, that Harry James Potter was forced to abscond his pureblood name, and to declare the persona Harry James Potter dead."

The gasps of horror and outrage were more than he could have hoped for.

"On a completely different notion, after last year's disaster with Professor Umbridge, the Ministry has been more than willing to not only abrogate all the Ministerial Decrees, but grant me a substantial amount of leeway while searching for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. In the light of the trials that the student whom formally was Harry Potter will have to pass, I couldn't help but think of another victim of Greyback."

Immediately murmurs were heard from everywhere within the Great Hall.

"As some of you might have guessed, I have done my very best to try to convince Professor Remus Lupin to teach another year at Hogwarts. Regretfully, Professor Lupin was most hesitant because he felt he had an obligation to his newly adopted son, Laurence Sirius Lupin, whom was bitten just before he turned sixteen this summer. I'll have you know that Professor Lupin can negotiate like no other, and drove me an exceptionally hard bargain. But the only way he'd be willing to teach, was if his son was granted a place at Hogwarts in order to finish his NEWT education."

"As I felt it was morally reprehensible to deprive you all from yet another year of decent Defense education, I had no choice but to accept the delightful lad Larry Lupin in our midst. The hat has already placed him in Gryffindor, and I wager he'll fit right in. Enjoy your meal!"

...

"HARRY!" Screeched Hermione while squeezing the life out of him. "I thought you were... Hedwig appeared without a letter... Stayed for an entire month... Nobody would say anything..." She sniffled.

"Ouch girl, this new package comes with supernatural hearing, _do you mind?_ And for the record, Harry's dead. I'm Larry."

Larry decided to ignore the fact that she'd cuffed his head in response and grinned stupidly at her.

She grinned just as stupidly back at him.

"Hi, Larry, I'm Hermione."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione."

…

"Bloody hell... You always draw the short straw, don't you?"

"Err... I don't know about that, actually, Remus was finally in a position to adopt me. I'm quite happy with that."

"That's the most important bit... Brilliant mate, you and your dad are the perfect excuse to have mum refrain from using the posh silverware which inevitably leads to nagging about how I eat. I don't care how, but from now on, you and your dad will be at all the diner parties if it's up to me. Just you wait!"

...

"Why anyone might doubt who you once might have been is beyond me, Larry. I've never seen such a large-scale case of Wackspurt infestations. I say it makes a lot of people act rather loopy... They are all caught up in rather cyclic thought patterns. You should have heard Ginny or the girls in my dorm – mourning the loss of the 'national sex symbol' Harry Potter, then fantasizing over the 'deliciously feral' Larry Lupin, weeping because they'd be crushing on a werewolf, and mourning Harry Potter again. Very odd behaviour indeed."

Larry sniggered at Luna's blunt description of her yearmates.

"Not to mention, You certainly don't strike me as the lonely orphan boy Harry Potter used to be. I'm happy you have found a family after being turned into a werewolf, Larry Lupin."

"As horrible as the experience was, I can't deny I've gained a lot."

"You've been a good friend in your past life, Larry. I'd love to be your friend in this one."

"Thanks, Luna."

"No, _thank you_."

…

Larry knew that sort of light flash. He took a deep breath, and turned around, momentarily forgetting his state of undress.

"Colin Creevey, if you don't put that camera away, so help me Merlin I'll smash the bloody thing to pieces..!"

Smelling Colin's arousal didn't make things better. It made him acutely aware that he was wearing nothing but his underwear. Larry groaned while pinching his nose.

...

"Please give me your urine."

"Excuse me, Neville?!"

"Sorry, H... Larry. The Sopophorous plant grows mighty well on Mooncalf dung, and it is rumored to truly flourish when watered with werewolf urine. I never dared to ask professor Lupin... But seeing as we have been friends for quite some time..?"

...

Katie Bell looked up and down, assessing Larry as if he were a piece of meat. While he was completely dressed this time, he felt very exposed.

"You're taller but lithe... Still a seekers build, I suppose."

Larry didn't say a word.

"McGonagall give you your broom back?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Katie."

"Cut the crap, Harry."

"Larry."

"Larry," the girl amended.

"Well?" She demanded when Larry didn't answer her question directly.

"Well," Larry allowed, "after the tragic death of Harry Potter McGonagall gave all his earthly possessions to my father, since he was the only one alive and not a traitor who was named in the last Potter will – Harry Potter didn't have a will you see – and well, dad isn't much of a flier so he thought it would be an utter waste to leave a firebolt gathering dust... He couldn't bear the thought of selling a broom with so much sentimental value, you see..."

Katie snorted.

"Welcome back on the team, Potter."

"Lupin!" Larry corrected her, feeling annoyed. "But I'm sorry to say I can't play."

"What do you mean you can't play?" Katie said, sounding rather dangerous.

"My dominant hand used to be my right one, the werewolf that attacked me used it as a chewing toy. It still isn't functioning properly. I'd have to catch the snitch with my left hand, which I haven't been trained to do. I'd be a liability to the team victory."

Katie made an angry sound and walked up to him, and started to poke him in the chest with her finger.

"Larry Lupin, I don't care if you start to catch all the snitches by swallowing them, or clamp the snitch between your feet, you had better work on it! You're the best that Gryffindor has to offer, for Merlin's sake!"

"Yes, ma'am..."

...

Larry trudged off the quidditch pitch, feeling bad over his lousy performance. It was a marvel he had managed to catch the snitch for Gryffindor at all. What Katie had been thinking to demand him back on the team he'd never know... He had half the mind to quit the team today, but how does one try to convey such a message to a woman that could only be described as 'Oliver Wood, Mark Two'? He was so lost in depressing thoughts that he didn't notice someone closing in on him until it was too late.

The man seemed to have a wider smile than Gilderoy Lockhart, which was quite a feat, really.

"Hi, my name is Ragmar Dorkins, and I am the manager of the Chudley Cannons! Have you ever considered playing quidditch professionally?"

Larry gaped at the man.

"Didn't you see me try to reach for the snitch with a defect arm? I almost wasted my team's for victory. Why on earth would you want me on your team?"

Dorkins shuffled uncomfortably.

"Honestly, you'd be a whole improvement to our current seeker. Galvin Gudgeon has developed a serious case of performance anxiety... It doesn't do the team any good, I tell you. We could use a fresh breeze of air... A new seeker, a new talent. We've already cleared your superhuman reflexes and sight with the International Quidditch Association, and the IQA told us that if you can take veritaserum on the fact that that mangled arm of your used to be your dominant arm they could assume your handicap weighs against you being physically better than human beings that are normally only allowed to play professional quidditch. You'd be the first werewolf to do so, doesn't that sound awesome?!"

Larry frowned.

"Mr... Dorkins, was it? You are very enthusiastic... What about my not being able to play on full moon?"

"Galvin would be a second string seeker, so he could still seek when we need him to. We just want you in the air whenever you can be - you're the best we can get. Anyhow, you're back at the castle's doors and that's how far we quidditch managers and scouts can go - so give it a serious thought, all right? You can mail me personally - here's a card - whenever you have decided. Really, we'd love to have you on the team."

Glad that the man wasn't allowed any further, Larry happily waved the man goodbye and quickly went inside.

"Larry," asked Ron, sounding breathless.

"Was that Ragmar Dorkins of the Chudley Cannons?"

"Err... Yes, why?"

"Did he ask you to play for the team?"

"Yes," said Larry with growing dread.

"You do know that I can't forgive you if you don't play for them, right?"

Larry wanted nothing more but to bash his head into the wall.

...

"Still Marauder-progeny defiling my classroom, I suppose," Snape sighed.

"Sir, I'm adopted!"

"How did you even manage to get enough OWL's to be allowed in my classroom? I know Potter failed them..." Snape asked, ignoring Larry's interjection.

"Sir, I don't know why everyone feels the need to act as if I were Potter, but let me tell you that I take offense in that. Please cease to do so!"

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor! And research a spell that dampens your delicate smelling organ. If you faint after being overwhelmed by the substances we'll be working with, I will fail you."

…

"For Pity's sake, dad! What were you thinking, signing me up for twelve NEWT level classes?!"

"Why Larry, we don't have anything to our name and you certainly haven't got any coattails to ride... Not to mention that there will be a whole lot of people who won't give you the time of their day solely based on the fact that you're a werewolf... You'll find that you need a pretty damn impressive resume to get anywhere in life... Starting with your grades. And I know you can do it because your OWL's were excellent. I won't tolerate any slacking off, Laurence Lupin!"

"But twelve courses..?!"

"Well, I certainly don't want my son to grow lazy and complacent like my pseudo-nephew Harry used to be. It hurt to watch how he always used to strive for mediocrity. I will see to it that you work for your marks!"

"Damn it!"

…

As Ron, Larry and Hermione walked into Hogsmeade, they were surprised to see the amount of reporters waiting. There wasn't anything special happening, was there?

It soon became clear why they were here: they've heard rumors about The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Bitten-By-A-Werewolf-And-Had-To-Declare-Himself-Dead. Or whatever they were writing about Harry Potter these days. Larry found he couldn't bring himself to care.

Even when they came running at him, yelling his previous surname.

When the media-vultures finally gave him an opportunity to answer their countless questions, Larry made a show of looking around him.

"I see no 'Mr Potter' you speak of. Are you sure you've got your facts straight? I heard the kid died, you know."

Before he could speak any further, they were addressing him as Mr Lupin, while asking the same questions.

Theatrically, Laurence furrowed his brow.

"I think this ridiculous notion that my life before I was bitten used to be that of a celebrity has to end. I can't begin to describe how absurd it is. Not to mention, I am Remus Lupin's son in flesh and blood. I don't even look like Potter. Where do you people get off coming up with crazy stuff like that? And clearly you lot don't even have gotten your facts straight about werewolves as well. Due to the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917, subsection C, even if I were – Larry tried to make a spectacle of himself, sniggering to point out the absurdity of him having been The-Boy-Who-Lived – even if I were a celebrity in my past life, the point would be completely moot because I'd be setting myself up for prosecution if I'd go around claiming I was born to a prominent pureblood line. Frankly, I'm appalled that you lot try to set me up like this. I'll have you know that I'm perfectly happy being alive and plan to continue that way; mainly by not breaking the oath on my life and magic that I am, as a matter of fact, Laurence Sirius Lupin, and nobody else. The nerve of you people... Jeeze!"

"For once and for all: the name," Larry carefully enunciated in a tone that implied he would not tolerate any contradictions, "is Laurence Sirius Lupin. I will respond to that or 'Larry'."

He looked at the baffled gaggle of reporters.

"Nothing else. Are. We. Clear?" He all but growled the question, for the first time truly showing his nature as a werewolf.

Without waiting for an answer Larry shook his head and dragged the now madly giggling Hermione and Ron with him.

"Silly reporters..."

…

A lot of girls had been curious for quite some time, but it was Pansy Parkinson of all people who acted on her burning curiosity. She conjured a cute harmless little immature smooth green snake, that couldn't have been larger than eight inches very near where Larry was eating. Her effort had payed off. Immediately, Larry forgot his meal, and was busy cooing in parseltongue at the confused little thing.

"He is a parselmouth," Lavender moaned.

"I've always wondered if a girl could reap the benefits from that..." Parvati mused.

"Forget the parselmouth effect, think about the stamina werewolves are rumored to have," Padma said, whom had been paying attention from the other table. Several girls began to blush and wriggle their bums on the benches.

Between the girls all caught in their private fantasies, boys trying to inch away from the parselmouth-werewolf (_evil!_), and Larry caught up in speaking with the cute little snake Pansy provided, nobody noticed Remus Lupin sneak up behind his son.

"Why, Larry, can you smell the arousal you cause among your peers? I say, if I'd known being a werewolf was such a turn on I'd be screaming it from the highest rooftops when I was a teen." Remus remarked casually, thoroughly embarrassing him.

Larry soon was red as a beet and tried to duck his head.

Remus smiled at him, before raising his voice to make himself heard over the entire Great Hall.

"Before any of you dose my son with lust potions, or worse: amortentia, to have their wicked way with him; I'd like to point out that the moment a werewolf is caught up too much in the act and accidentally mars the skin with either tooth or nail, the partner will have a scar for life, and a partial infection that will have to be registered at the Ministry of Magic. So please keep the risk of permanent love-bites and a desire to eat your stake extremely rare in the back of your mind before you do something tremendously stupid... Say Larry, are you going to keep that snake?"

…


	3. Rita's quill

**Rita's Quill**_  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>"Hey...my eyes aren't 'glistening with the ghosts of my past'!" <em>

When the dratted quill didn't stop writing nonsense, Harry suddenly thought of a way out. He looked at Rita with big eyes, hoping he looked genuinely taken aback.

"That quill... It thinks for it self. Where are its brains?"

Rita looked surprised, and kept silent, unsure of how to react to such a question.

"I don't trust objects that can think for their selves, let alone objects that are capable of making up juicy sensationalist stories by themselves. Ma'am, that quill is pure evil, and as such I would not want to be near that... that... _thing!_"

Harry stood up, and stomped out of the cupboard while looking as indignant as possible while going straight to his Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Do you remember that conversation we had after the basilisk debacle?"

Hearing everybody in the room but Dumbledore squawk at the word 'baslisik', was just divine vindication for Harry. That would serve that French tart to call him a _'little boy'_. Whether he was a willing participant in the tournament or not, they would take him serious.

"We have spoken about quite a few things after you've slain that basilisk, Harry, you have got to help me here."

"Our talk about things thinking for it-selves, not seeing where it keeps its brains? I oughtn't to trust such things, because they are generally very dark magic?"

"Yes..." Nodded Dumbledore slowly, not quite understanding what that had to do with the Triwizard Tournament interview.

Harry smirked while he once again drew himself up to his full length.

"Ms Skeeter uses a quill that thinks for itself and I find it quite disconcerting. Professor, are such magics even _allowed_ on the school premises?"

Dumbledore finally caught on and began to smirk as well.

"Why, Mr Potter, I think you are quite right. Please excuse me until I escort Ms Skeeter out of the castle since such dubious objects are most certainly a bad influence on the students and oughtn't to be in the castle..."

Harry was convinced that his headmaster actually managed to obliviate the disgusting woman. The article about the wand weighing ceremony was very short and factual, and about all four champions. Not even a word about a certain basilisk. But that didn't stop the three champions from looking at him warily.


	4. NOT a marriage law

**NOT a Marriage law!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Hermione cringed as she looked at the numerous reporters in front of her. Each major publishing magazine and every magical newspaper was present. And what she would say would also be live on the WNN. She'd be vilified in the very near future. She'd be put away as the woman that forced entire generations to prostitute themselves by the ministry. Damn Kingsley for giving her this job. Damn her for accepting it. But she was the head of the committee, and she had already relayed the plans to the ministry and Wizengamot and while nobody liked it – they all had agreed unanimously that it had to be done. But nobody would remember every man and woman who put their autograph under this law, no, they would remember Hermione the Homewrecker. She just knew it.<em>

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this pres conference. As you all know, a year ago interim minister Kingsley Shackebolt started the For All People committee – to which I will refer as the FAP committee from henceforth – in order to see just how poorly the population of Magical Brittan is faring, and to form a think tank that would present solutions for any long term problems we might foresee.

The last year I have had several research-teams doing investigations to the severity and the aftermath of the civil war with Voldemort, specifically what damage the terrorist and his terrorist organization have done to our demography. Suffice to say, they have successfully ruined it beyond repair. Therefore I am glad to say that FAP's think tank did look at the problem from all angles – and even put the research-teams to work with whole new research goals for background information for their problem solving – and FAP found a solution!

Let me first address two vicious rumors that have been going around for the last year:

_No, there will NOT be a marriage law._ We have just come out of a civil war, the stupidest thing we could do is force our people – who are all nursing a grudge of their own – to marry people whom they might have been up in arms against thirteen months ago.

To the other vicious rumour that has been going around:

Yes, we as the British Magical Populace are on the brink of extinction, no matter how meticulously we'd find our partners, within the next three generations our children's children would all be producing squibs because the gene pool is simply too small. On our own we will not survive.

However, do not despair. FAP has found a solution that will ensure that we, as a magical nation, will not perish.

This morning, something unprecedented has happened: Not a single person within the Ministry of Magic, and our Wizengamot has voted against the law called 'Reproduction Project'. It was passed unanimously.

What the law Reproduction Project basically entails is that every sentient being that has at the very least one magical human grandparent within the age-group of eighteen and sixty-eight – the fertile ages of the magical populace – is required by law to carry three children to term. Men will not be exempt from this law, because we are delighted to announce that Norway's famous gay potioneer Emil Olsen sold us the usage rights to his Male Pregnancy Potion. Any parent who has given birth to at least three children will be exempt of this law.

FAP is aware that we cannot expect people to raise children they didn't want to have, so the fortunes and estates of all the families that have gone extinct during the war are used to fund the Reproduction Project and realize orphanages and magical nurseries, primary- and secondary schools. However, should the carriers of the children of the Reproduction Project want to be a mother or father, they will get child support.

In order to enrich our gene pool we will offer money to men not native to Britain to sire children with our citizens. Just like the British citizens who will become carriers, they must subject themselves to a healer to show they don't carry any transmittable diseases. The men we will select will be further tested on possible hereditary diseases and most importantly: on strong magic. The passing factor for being accepted as a donor will be having a magical gift – being a seer, elemental, empath, parselmouth, metamorphmagus etc; have creature-blood; or being muggleborn. The orphan children of the Reproduction Project will have documentation of their parentage for the purpose of preventing inbreeding when they will have children.

FAP has also been concerned about the fact that research showed that conception only seems to be possible for magical beings when there is both intercourse and climax from both participants. We understand that being put in the position of having to carry a child, and having to be intimate with someone you don't know for said child is too much to expect from a lot of our citizens. Therefore we are brewing not only the Male Pregnancy Potion, but also Zeus' Elixer en masse. For those of you who are not familiar with Zeus' Elixer, let me assure you: no one will transform into a swan, but you will be extremely fertile and left into a strong haze for 24 hours where you lose all inhibitions and get an itch that won't stop no matter how many times you scratch it to satisfaction.

FAP realized that especially the older people will quickly lose their chance to contribute to society with a pregnancy, so they can expect to get an invitation to the Reproduction Project soon. Notice of your duty to the British population to carry a child will be sent one month ahead. Everyone is expected to report in immediately after receiving the letter in order for the mandatory physical exam, the magical vow that you will not deliberately hurt the child you carry in any way during your pregnancy and for men to drink the Male Pregnancy Potion, because arranging the intestines in such way to make place for a baby apparently takes some time.

Moreover, as a token of goodwill to the public, relatively famous British witches and wizards will also be the first carriers of the children of the Reproduction Project. FAP is willing to negotiate with the managers of the quidditch teams on when which players will have a pregnancy as to not ruin our chances on international quidditch victories.

The first carriers will start next month and will be: Hermione Granger; Celestina Warbeck, Rita Skeeter, Glynnis Griffiths, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Stubby Boardman, Gilderoy Lockheart, and Ludovic Bagman. They have all been contacted in advance.

The exact details of what the law entails and how the program will work will be printed under the advertisements of all major British magical publications.

Thank you for your time."

_She walked away from the podium. God she hated this, but at least she wouldn't be forced to marry Vincent Crabbe. She shuddered at the thought, glad the marriage law wasn't feasible. Yes, she would rather go down in history as Hermione the Homewrecker, than end up with inbred Death Eater scum._


	5. The wonders of Felix Felicis

**The wonders of Felix Felicis**

**_or 'What to do when your wife used to read the adventures of Asterix?'_**

* * *

><p>James was shocked to walk into a hysterically sobbing Lily. What on earth could have happened? Why was his precious Lily-flower so unhappy? Why was his vivacious wife so downtrodden? So he did the logical thing. He asked.<p>

"Waaaaah!" Wailed his wife.

_Wasn't she a muggleborn, how was it possible she sounded like a banshee? There wasn't any banshee blood in the Evans family, was there?_

"I am such a bad mother, and you are such a terrible father – we aren't fit to be parents at all!"

"Where does this come from, my beautiful Lily-flower?" Asked James while he absentmindedly conjured a handkerchief, and handed it to her. "Why do you suddenly think we aren't fit to be parents?"

"Don't think I didn't see it last week." Said Lily, "I saw you drop Harry on his head."

James winced. He had hoped his wife would have missed that.

"Today Harry had a little accident while I was ironing our clothes," Lily confessed. "I charmed the iron to do the work for me like I always do, and I sat next to it reading, I didn't notice until it was too late. Until Harry was wailing."

James blanched. "Merlin! Please tell me our son is alright?"

Lily sniffled and nodded.

"I've spelled him asleep and currently he has a very thick burn-healing paste over his hands. But that's not the point. I've failed him. You've failed him. We both have failed our little darling son. How come we're such a bad parents?"

James frowned. They were indeed horrible, horrible parents. But then, whenever Remus or Sirius babysitted – Peter had spontaneously applied for three different jobs at the same time rather than spending some time with the youngest of the pack – those two had just as much bad luck. Moony and Padfoot had been horrified by how disastrous that evening turned out to be. And no matter what precautions Lily and he took, somehow Harry always had the baddest luck.

It was always bad luck, now he came to think of it. It was almost as if their son was cursed.

..._Cursed?_ _Doesn't that sound familiar at all?_

"That's it!" James shouted, feeling elated. "That's what wrong with us!"

"Well what is it? Why are we failing so terribly?" Lily asked, dejected.

"Do you remember that one time, how Snivellus called you the M-word when you tried to defend him?"

Lily shrugged while half choking on a sob. James took it as a confirmation to elaborate.

"Do you remember how angry I was on your behalf?"

Lily snorted this time.

"You used _Explosivo Castrado_ on him. In the great hall. During dinner time. You humiliated him good. That's the reason why Death Eaters take you seriously. They know not to fuck with you."

James squirmed in some sort of vague embarrassment.

"But do you remember how Snivelly retaliated, a week later, when he was finally out of the hospital wing?"

"Bugger!" Lily cursed.

"Yes. Bugger indeed. I completely forgot. He did a very complex wand movement, some sort of orange spell, silently. It tingled. When he was done, he cackled madly, pronouncing he had cursed my firstborn with the worst luck ever."

"So that's why that revolving door shot further, right into Harry whom I was carrying on my back that time."

James nodded.

"And that's why we didn't realize the baby formula had gone bad until Harry was puking his guts out."

"And that's why our pediatric healer had to try fifteen times before he had the needle in properly for all the vaccination shots."

"Or why the one time I forget to check the bath water, somehow the tap gave far too hot water."

"Or why he was buried under snow because that avalanche just had to fall when he was sitting on the porch."

Lily nodded decisively.

"It isn't that we are exceptionally bad parents, our kid has exceptionally bad luck. But bad luck I can work with. It seems my dad was wrong, comic books are good reading material and brilliant inspiration."

"Oh dear," James muttered. "Dare I ask what you are planning?"

**(seven hours later)**

After seven hours of intensive brewing in an XXL cauldron, Lily cackled in delight.

"Accio babybath!"

Carefully, she poured all the potion from the cauldron into the babybath, and conjured a snorkel. She charmed the snorkel to give extra oxygen while vanishing the carbon oxide. Never let it be said she wasn't thorough. Now everything was ready, it was time to call James to bring in her – but there they were already.

"What on earth _happened_ James? Look at his head, he is bleeding!"

"Don't you think I know." The man said, sounding vexed. "One minute he was happily flying around the diner table, the next thing I know, that horrid vase falls down on him."

"Petunia's?" Lily interjected.

"Petunia's." James confirmed. "Anyhow, you are the one that knows healing spells. Could you please fix him?" He asked, holding up Harry under his arm pits.

"Fix him, he says," she muttered angrily, while waving her wand in the right pattern. "_Episkey_! As if he is an object... Poor Harry, with your bad, bad luck. Mummy promises she tries to counter all those ouch-ies the best she can, just you wait... Now, hold our son still while I spell this snorkel not to get out of place... _Lentum_."

"Care to explain why you have spelled a snorkel into his mouth?"

"Later, but please undress him while I spell his nose shut. Wouldn't want him to drown anyway."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do your job, James." Lily said through gritted teeth. "If you weren't such a jackass in the first place, Snape would have had no reason to curse you or your offspring, and we would have never had a problem to begin with! _Impervius,"_ she said while she stuck her wand in one nostril. "_Impervius,"_ she repeated in the other.

"There you are, Lily. Our baby-boy naked as the day he was born... Minus the snorkel of course." James added, sounding rather dubious.

"Good. Now use a timer spell for exactly seventy minutes. Start timing while I submerge him into the potion."

"Wait, that basin is full of potion?"

"Yes," she said, as she sat Harry down in the potion.

"So what kind of potion is it? And why do you want him to soak in it, of all things?"

"This is a huge batch of Felix Felicis, and I want to baptize him and soak him into the stuff. Afterwards, I'll feed him a liter of it." She said while holding a hand on Harry's chest so he wouldn't get up.

James looked baffled.

"Soak him in Felix Felicis? Are you out of your mind?"

"Not at all, don't tell me that you still don't know what magic's all about?"

"Well, clearly I don't because I can't see why what you are planning to do isn't completely insane!" James said testily.

"It's all about the symbolism. What your creativity and your mind's ideas can give magic to work with. That's the whole basis of potions brewing, accidental magic, charms... Transfiguration. Don't tell me you still haven't figured that out? If I say gravity is a silly little suggestion, from that point on, magic will treat gravity like a silly little suggestion. And if I say that almost drowning my son in a potion will make my son always have that potions effect just like a comic book hero, magic will obey!"

"Lily-flower, dearest... I read something about side-effects, are you sure this is the best course of action...? I mean you know well, and all, but..." side

"Pish posh. You are talking about how an overdose makes one reckless, aren't you? Recklessness is relative to previous behaviour. We are going to raise our Harry to think before he acts, he might still be reckless, but it'll be controlled. Never mind, true curses are a bitch to find counter-curses against. So rather than dissolving his bad luck, it is much easier to overpower him with crazy good luck. If it evens out the way I hope it does, all the bad will be accompanied with good. So be a good husband and trust me. If you do all will be well."

"If you say so..."

**(ninety minutes later)**

"So you've bathed Harry in Felix Felices, you've managed to feed him a liter of the potion you've soaked him in, now what?"

"Now we both take a cup, and I'll put Harry to bed, while you transfigure a piece of cutlery into a shag-carpet and lit the fireplace for romantic ambiance. Afterwards, we'll have lots of kinky sex!"

"Ok, I'll see you soon, my beautiful Lily-flower."

**(five minutes later)**

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –_"

_The sounds of someone stumbling from a room – a door bursting open – a cackle of high-pitched laughter – _

"_Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything – _"

"_Stand aside – stand aside, girl – _"

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

"_Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside, now..."_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead – _"

"_Not Harry! Please … have mercy... have mercy..."_

**...And while Harry didn't fall into the cauldron like Obelix did, the potions effects stayed with him just like the curse did... A lunatic tries to murder him, and he survives a killing curse... And while from that point on the curse of bad luck tried to get a hold on him, the good kind, or rather dumb luck seemed to prevail, leading to the most unlikely events...**


	6. The Trial

**the Trial**

* * *

><p><em>"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes, "there was no case against you, none at all."<em>

That simple sentence broke something.

Just like his wand, earlier today.

"The trial was a complete farce; I had no legal representation, they didn't let me answer the questions properly, Figg was disregarded just because she's a squib... But here is the real kicker: a headmaster and a chairman of Merlin knows how many political functions, all in one under the grandiose name of Albus Sodding Dumbledore, showed up by the time they were done with me. Apparently he suddenly fancied himself an attorney, but due to the sudden changed time of the trial, _he missed it._ Didn't even had the decency to look me in the eye."

He growled.

"They have effectively managed to further cement my reputation as a lying attention seeking twat, or whatever it is they call me these days; they managed to break my wand, and therefore managed to throw me out of Hogwarts."

"Ouch."

"Yes, ouch." Harry frowned. Apart from that, nobody really dared to say anything, because what could you say on occasions like these? He shook his head, left the room full of dazed people and walked to the library, to properly brood in solitude.

…

It was later that day in a more private setting when Harry's dam burst.

"Honestly Hermione? I don't even know why I am still trying. Regardless of whether someone is or isn't guilty, it doesn't matter. If they want to pin something down on someone, they simply defenestrate all logic, witness accounts, alibi's and all law in general."

"In fact," Harry said exasperatedly while dramatically throwing his arms up in the air, "I am rather surprised that no-one showed up at Privet Drive, and simply told me _'Hello mr. Potter, we have decided we don't like you anymore, so we will snap your wand now. __**Snap!**__ Ta!'_"

"Just _think_ about it! The first Chamber of Secrets debacle; you know, when Moaning Myrtle was murdered? Riddle pointed his finger at Hagrid and that blasted acromantula of his, and the next thing we know, Hagrid is thrown out of school! How could they even link the symptoms of a basilisk to a bleeding acromantula? It would have made more sense to suspect that some blithering idiot suddenly found an appreciation for the killing curse when Myrtle snuffed it! But _nooo_ – and why didn't they investigate any further or _think_? Because Hagrid is a half giant. Argh!"

Harry was pacing now.

"And some fifty odd years later the chamber gets reopened, and without any reason or cause, they throw Hagrid into Azkaban because – and I remember Fudge saying it quite clearly – it would look like the ministry was _**doing**_ something. And when they finally got their heads out of their arse, they let him out of Azkaban, but he didn't get reparations, let alone the permit to carry a wand again."

"Today too, when Dumbledore feebly tried to dispute my already broken wand. Fudge was quite clear with his choice of words: **'Laws can be changed.'**"

Harry snorted mirthlessly, "I'm beginning to think that man has changed the Ministry of Magic's motto into 'Ex Post Facto', or some such thing."

His audience, consisting out of Sirius, Remus and Hermione, cringed. It didn't help that Harry's body language screamed righteous anger.

"And we all know that that isn't the first time something like that happened, do we? Under Bagnold's administration, when my parents were murdered? Sirius was thrown into Azkaban – for life, mind you – without a trial! I think I'm seeing a trend here! And even someone seemingly sensible like Dumbledore – mind you, I am _not_ his biggest fan at the moment – didn't bother to investigate further, even though it was common knowledge that Sirius and James had basically declared themselves to be each other brothers."

Harry fumed, and ranted further.

"Not to mention the magical oath Sirius must have pledged in order to _become_ my godfather. To this day Sirius probably still is unable to do something that would harm my physical wellbeing." He looked at his godfather to see him nod to confirm Harry's suspicions. With trouble he reigned his sudden tendency to repeatedly bash his head into the wall. The general stupidity of the wizarding world was truly baffling.

"If anyone cared to think for _just a minute_ they would have figured that out! I mean, I wasn't even raised in the wizarding culture, and I was able to deduce that. But nobody did that, didn't they? And why? Because nobody _cared_. Because Sirius was a Black, and the Blacks are... well, black. And that was all there was to it. It disgusts me!"

By now he was even making wild gestures to emphasize his story, something he normally never did.

"When I was thirteen I tried to tell the minister that I knew my godfather was innocent. Did it matter? Did they ask me for a pensive memory? Did they wait for the professor-turned-werewolf to change back and to ask his witness account? _No!_ And why, you might ask? Because it was bad politics, so that no good minister smiles at me like I am some demented toddler, and tells me I must have been confunded, right? _They just don't listen._ Why? _Because they don't care for the truth!_"

Three pairs of wide eyes were staring at Harry, abhorred by the implications of the solid facts he was dishing out in front of them.

"I mean, honestly, a year later Fudge stands next to my hospital bed again, and I tell him Voldemort's back, and the tosser ignores it. Begins to complain I am not to be trusted; even outright _admitted_ that he based his opinion of me on Skeeters articles, and then – talk about mind boggling – he complains that I tell crackpot stories each and every year. Never mind the fact that it was _him_, last year, who told me that I couldn't help being confunded!"

"You know what that means, Sirius?" Growled Harry, seeing a confused godfather meet his eyes.

"He obviously forgot that he told me I was confunded and therefore delusional; that means he doesn't remember what he told me to try and iron out the wrinkles in the story last year. If you honestly thought that a mass murderer had had managed to capture three innocent school-aged kids – out of which one was a celebrity on a pedestal for crying out loud – and proceeded to confound them in the hope they'd vouch for his innocence, you'd believe it to be a tragedy! Something like that isn't easy to forget. Heck, you'd probably remember it for the rest of your life."

He pleadingly sought his godfathers eyes.

"Sirius, that Fudge accused me of cock and bull stories then and there, clearly means he knew that somebody in the ministry made a huge cock-up, and rather than setting things straight, he proceeded by trying to sweep it all under the carpet, and trying to make sure you got kissed before anyone could ask any questions! That is his modus operandi, he did it again with Crouch Jr – _he was kissed before the aurors had seen him!_"

This had his godfather baffled. They severely go in the wrong with the heir to the Lordship of a Most Ancient and Noble House, and rather than set things straight, they try to kill the wronged one, so that nobody complains?

At this point, Hermione wrinkled her nose. The name 'Crouch' rubbed her the wrong way, regardless of which one they were talking about. She was still irked by the careless manner of how Crouch dismissed Winky so easily. Years of faithful service, and being found in a very unfortunate position was enough to get the sack. And to think that he broke the law for Merlin-knows-how-many-years, keeping his convicted son at home under an invisibility cloak. And all that time there wasn't a single soul who thought something was amiss. Ridiculous! Yes, it was absolutely ridiculous that magicals, in a world where nothing always is what it seems to be, nobody even bothers by looking beneath the surface to find out what actually is going on.

Harry looked at her and that instant she knew that he knew what she was thinking. When he spoke again, she was shocked by the softness in his voice. It sounded deceptively calm.

"Hermione, what ought to irk you, is that you, and Remus, much like any other sentient creature – and _how I loathe_ that term – are treated as third rate citizens or worse. Those stinking self entitled purebloods need every ounce of input they can get from brilliant minds like the two of you, because it is smart and innovative people like you that could actually improve this Merlin forsaken community. Don't bother deluding yourself that they will ever appreciate you, a muggleborn."

Suddenly, Harry looked at his uncles. Honorary godfather and the real one. "Don't think that I haven't figured out yet why my muggleborn mum, whom kept ignoring the endless advances of a certain pureblood heir of the Potter line, was suddenly head over heels with my father and happily consented to marry him. I wouldn't be surprised if she dosed herself up with amortentia or some such, because a respectable pureblood husband was her ticket to a charms mastery."

You'd truly have to be a special brand of crazy to see no faults in the way one had to navigate themselves throughout the 'wizarding world', as magical Britain would like to call their isolationist community.

"And you want to know what really scares me? I'm afraid that within a few months, the media will have made me out to be not only a deranged lunatic, but a dangerous one as well. I can imagine it happening already... While I am out, squandering money somewhere because I won't have anything better to do – seeing as I won't be going back to Hogwarts – or maybe on a different occasion, but definitely somewhere very public, they will arrest me, with a full Auror corps present. And I won't have a trial. And they probably won't even tell me which murder they will be accusing me of – and I don't even know how to turn into an animal to escape!"

"You squandering money?" Snorted Hermione, trying to find mirth in the dire situation Harry was sketching.

"I imagine that when I'm obviously not bothered with school anymore I have to do something with my time. Merlin knows I truly have to be motivated to actually do something. And I know I have enough money not to work a day in my life if I choose to. I could go explore myself."

And suddenly Hermione realized that the coming school year would be lonely without the man whom she loved... albeit platonically.

"Oh Harry!" The next thing he knew, he was engulfed in Hermione's arms, and for a few seconds he tried to let her soothe him. It didn't work though. Harry was still feeling slighted, and voiced that.

"You know what the sad part is? Nothing can bring Cedric back from the dead, and with Voldemort out and about he will be the first of many. And regardless of how the ministry tries to screw me over, Voldemort will hate me for my sheer tenacity in refusing to drop dead. He will see me as an embarrassment, someone that has to be taken out."

He closed his eyes and ducked his head in Hermione's hair.

"And my loyal holly-phoenix wand which saved my life on more than one occasion now consists out of two parts. I can't buy myself a new wand within Britain, and I am exempted of magical education: I can't even learn some defensive magic in the hope to give the Dark Tosser at least a fight – it'd be nice if I could actually take some Death Eaters with me when I die."

He sniffed.

"And no matter how much I vent about everything being unfair, it still doesn't change that Remus and Sirius won't be given the time of anyones day to hear their story and to realize those two aren't ruthless killers. I can't go back to Hogwarts – hell, they might even try to send me back to the Dursley's – I don't even know why I would want go back to that biased lot I had to call peers for four years! Even Ron showed his true colours and turned his back on me when my name came out of the goblet. And no matter how much I missed my friend, or how quickly I have forgiven him, I can't help but fearing the moment he'll betray my trust again. You were the only thing keeping me there, Hermione. You were the sole reason I planned to return to that Merlin forsaken hell hole – provided I would live to see the end of that trice damned tournament!"

Harry sniffed again, "Everything just generally sucks at the moment!"

Silence.

"You know," Sirius said tentatively, "I remember that my mother had this extremely illegal time turner. Rather than hours, you could choose to go back months or years."

Now _that _had potential. He knew he couldn't create paradoxes, or change the time line so rigorously that he wouldn't recognize his present anymore, but it definitely had potential. Within seconds he already had some sort of plan.

"I could go back to November the first of '81. Go to the goblins and establish that I am Harry Potter, sole heir to the Potter fortune, and that I want a working muggle debit and credit card, be able to access magical valuta around the world, and the bank statements to go to older me in stead of mini-me. I could actually take the time to learn how to defend myself."

Silence.

"Harry," Remus said, "you will have to make sure in very much detail when and where you are expected to be 'Harry' again... You will have to be very exact with de-aging potion. You will have to make sure that you exactly remember who you are expected to be when your borrowed time is up. You'll have to act as a teenager again when you're all grown up. It's nearly impossible."

"Tssk," scoffed Harry. "I just have to write a letter to the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. In that letter I tell them I am fed up with the British magical community, that I'll immigrate, and my message to the public: go fuck yourself. When I turn back in time I'll have fourteen years to shape up, and to train myself not to be an easy target, and to get another identity."

With a vindictive smile, he elaborated further. "After September '95 I'll make sure to show the face everybody identifies with the famous Boy Who Lived in some very crowded magical community every once in a while. As long as I'll have a good photo of how I look right now – and I can buy a newspaper for that, really – I'm sure I'll find a way to make myself look like the kid everyone expects me to be in that time frame."

The cat-ate-the-canary smile became even wider.

"Voldemort, being the psychopathic megalomaniac he is, won't be able to leave me alone. In no-time he will have dispatched his minions out there, looking for my every trace. And since their first lead is somewhere very public, it won't go unnoticed by the local aurors. If I'll be away far enough for Voldemort not to be as fear-inspiring as in Britain, but close enough to still be an international household name, his return will be in the newspapers, and the proof will be incontrovertible."

"In other words, I'll have done my public service of announcing his rebirth properly; have managed to finish my magical education, and the peace of a new identity. No-one could guilt-trip me into becoming their very own boy-hero/martyr."

Sirius silently looked at Harry for a long time.

"It's brilliant. Would you perchance like the company of a Grim for a pet, while you're using mothers time turner?"

"I'd be delighted."


	7. Cousins

**Cousins**

* * *

><p>Hermione was surprised to find Harry in the common room with an unusually thick book... Not to say Harry had an aversion to reading – he certainly wasn't Ron – but it was uncommon to find him staring into thick volumes such as these.<p>

"So, what are you reading?" Hermione asked, making conversation.

"Wizarding genealogy," was Harry's answer.

"Why?" She asked rather puzzled. It wasn't like Harry to be interested in stuff like that – and to see him, after five years of not giving a toss about who's who in the wizarding world, suddenly interested in stuff that normally only mattered to the uppity pure-bloods with a better-than-thou attitude was strange to say the least.

"Remember our first summer in Grimmauld Place? Sirius showed the family tapestry, and showed me how we were related. Did you know that he and I were second cousins? It turned out I had some living family after all."

Not knowing what to do at the mention of Harry's dead godfather she sat beside him and gave him a one-armed hug. He leaned in to show her he appreciated it, and spoke once more.

"Actually, I'm getting kind of queasy at what I'm reading – Sirius' parents were each others second cousins as well. His mum's full name was Walburga Vespa Black née Black. _Black née Black!_ Walburga and Orion had the very same great-grandparents... I don't know what to feel about that. Actually – I think I do, and it kind of disgusts me. Never mind the fact that it also means I have to acknowledge that Malfoy – the bloody ponce – is my second cousin, once removed. I'm not sure if I like that."

Hermione turned a bit green.

"Vespa? As in a hornet? Honestly, who names their child after a wasp genus? It isn't as if they ran out of other stars and constellations for naming material leaving the constellation 'Vespa' as the only choice, is it? But Black née Black? _Ew!_ ...And my condolences," she muttered afterwards, not knowing anything better to say to the revelation that Harry was related to the Malfoy-spawn.

"I know, right? Well, the upside is that Tonks – whether they burned her mother off the family tree or not – is also my second cousin, once removed."

"Well, that's better."

Harry made a non-committal sound, leafing further through the book in his lap.

"Hey, look at that!"

"At what?" Asked Hermione, hanging over Harry's shoulder.

"The Weasley's!"

"Huh, I never would've guessed. Well Harry, it turns out Mr. Weasley is your second cousin, once removed as well."

"Oh God, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"What's the matter Harry?"

"Hermione, I am – was, right now definitely _was_ – crushing on my third cousin. That's still incestuous, if you think about it."

She looked as Harry as if she just had tasted something very gross. After a shuddering breath, she spoke.

"Well, you are only related to her through your grandmum Dorea, aren't you?"

"Er..." Harry said, feeling rather stupid, "I haven't even checked granddad Charlus' family tree..."

Hermione hugged him again.

"No better time than the present, right?"

"Right," Harry said, as he began to leaf through the thick book looking for the Potter family tree.

"Grandad Charlus... Oh, here he is..." Harry groaned.

"Charlus Hadrianus Potter," Harry read out loud. "Son of James Ignotus Potter and Margaret Fabienne Prewett, twin sister of – oh God – _Muriel_, and sister of Ignatius and Theresa Prewett."

"Harry, didn't we come across Ignatius Prewett in the Black Family tree?"

"Yes, Hermione. Let be go to his part of the tree... Ignatius Prewett, married to Lucretia Black, father to Margeret "Molly" Weasley née Prewett and the twins Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Wait, what does that make Molly and Arthur?!"

Hermione yanked the book out of Harry's hands and began to leaf back with furor.

"They're second cousins, once removed." Hermione squeaked. "Those incest jokes that go like 'honey, I want a divorce, but can we still stay cousins' lose their fun in the wizarding world, don't they?"

"I'd laugh so much I'd cry," Harry deadpanned. "Wait, that means Ginny is my cousin twice, isn't it?"

"Thrice at the very least," Hermione groaned. "You are forgetting that she is your cousin twice at your grandmum's side of the family, and we still don't know how you're related to her through your granddad."

Harry rubbed his eyes, and leaned into Hermione's side to easily leaf through the pages in the book that now was on her lap.

"I'll go to the large Black family tree, maybe when I trace Ginny through Molly's family and I trace mine with both one finger, I'll know what I am to her... Ah, here it is. Arcturus II and grandmum Dorea, first cousins. Lucretia and dad, second cousins. Molly and I, third cousins. So Ginny is my third cousin, once removed. That's only marginally better," Harry sighed.

"And your granddad's side of the family?" Prodded the inquisitive girl.

Harry looked at his sister in all but blood.

"I kind of hoped we could pretend to forget."

"Not a chance, Potter!" Snorted Hermione with no small amount of schadenfreude. Being raised by muggles gave Harry a typical muggleborn-like revulsion when it came to dealing with the amount of intermarrying magical families subjected themselves to. Why people still wondered where squibs came from was a mystery to Hermione. She silently speculated that it was simply because squib children used too much magic while still in the womb, desperately doing anything to be born healthy. The poor sods probably never stood a chance with their inbred parents!

"Now where were we," Harry muttered as he pulled the book back onto his lap again. "Great-grandmother Margaret and Ignatius were brother and sister, which means that granddad Charlus and Molly would be first cousins and dad and Ginny are second cousins, making me her second cousin once removed." He rubbed his temples. "For what it's worth, I think I can finally understand why they all insist on calling me an honorary Weasley..."

Whereas Harry looked completely flabbergasted at the idea of being able to be related to someone three times over, Hermione looked positively ill.

"Your second cousin once removed, third cousin and third cousin once removed all in one package; of whom – completely coincidentally, no doubt – I always have thought that she bears an uncanny resemblance to your mum. That's... Actually, no, I don't know what to say, Harry..."

Harry dumped the book on wizarding genealogy back on her lap, and sprinted to the loo.

Ten minutes of retching later, Harry came back after he had brushed his teeth.

"So, Harry, I guess you aren't jealous anymore when you see Ginny snogging Dean?"

"Not at all. While puking my guts out I've come up with a rule of thumb. If I know _how _I am related than I am _too much_ related to date it."

Hermione laughed at him, unable to conceal her mirth over his misery.

"You are right, Hermione. Screw that. From now on I am only dating either British muggleborns or simply witches from the continent."

* * *

><p>AN: I've made the Vespa up. I looked her up at harry potter wikia and couldn't find a middle name. Vespa is a constellation, and I thought being compared to a wasp wouldn't be too ooc.<p>

I've also made the Prewett family tree up. Charlus Potter's parents are completely fictional, as is the relation between the canon Prewetts Muriel, Ignatius and Tessie, which I assumed stands for Theresa Prewett.

i.e. in canon, we can assume Harry just married a girl that has a lot of cousins in common with him, who is coincidentally his third cousin (see hp wikia for Septimus Weasley; their happily forever after suddenly becomes rather disturbing!).


	8. Battle of Hogwarts - the aftermath (AU)

**Battle of Hogwarts - the aftermath**

(Alternative Universe)

* * *

><p>Harry woke up. He was in pain. No, it was more than that; he felt horrible. As if his whole body had been in and out of the blender. Why did he always end up hurt? There had to be some kind of conspiracy behind it. It was too damn much to be nothing more but the worst luck in human history. Feeling a sudden gulf of nauseating headache he couldn't help but moan.<p>

"If it's your head, don't try to open your eyes yet, Harry. The sensory overload might send you right back into another coma." The voice was soft, and unmistakably Hermione's. Good. That meant, no matter if he was in a hostile situation or not, he had her by his side. With her infallible levelheadedness everything would be alright. He was as sure of that as the sun would rise in the east.

"What happened?" He croaked.

"Please tell me first what you remember, Harry. I want to be sure you have no memory loss. I'll fill you in with the bits and pieces that matter, ok?"

His memory was jumbled. If his body had been through the blender, his memory had joined the party. He remembered bits and pieces, but it all felt like a jig-saw puzzle far above his level.

"Ron, pushing Fred out of the way... Ginny and Colin... Luna, Professor Flitwick... Professor Snape... I was a horcrux... Neville didn't survive Nagini, did he?"

Silence.

"No, but Nagini didn't survive Neville either."

"Good." At least he could feel vindicated on Neville's behalf.

"Focus, Harry."

He swallowed thickly.

"Can we say His name again?"

"Yes. Do you still know what happened, Harry?"

Harry frowned, eyes still closed.

"I did put the poisoned dagger into his heart, didn't I?"

"You did Harry."

"I saw him fall. He is dead, right?"

"I'd say 'dead as a dodo', but since I've been introduced to the diricawl... Suffice to say, we've got all of his soul, and even his fancy homunculus body couldn't survive that dagger in his heart."

"But that isn't all, is it?"

"No," Hermione sounded reluctant to say it. "It isn't."

He remembered baby-blue light. The fourth unforgivable. Feared even more than the quick Killing Curse. These days, instant death wasn't viewed as the horrible fate it had been; feeling the agony of the inevitable imminent and impending doom over your existence was in some ways far more cruel. It was a waiting game, and all your loved ones had to suffer with you. If __that __had hit him, his body would shut down. And it wouldn't be pleasant either.

The first month was said to be one of unexplainable discomfort. The inherent knowledge that __something _was off_. The next seven weeks were your own personal dementor. Nobody else could see it, and nobody else could feel it. But the experience would be just the same. And in addition to reliving all your worst nightmares and memories, you'd have to deal with the horrible pain of losing grip on your soul. The last week you weren't there anymore. Your body would just shut down.

The worst part was that suicide wasn't possible. Something had been incorporated into that horrible curse that made all other deaths impossible. More agony was possible, very much so. But not an easy way out. If that was what hit him, he was a dead man walking. It was luckily, Harry thought, that at least he had Hermione at his side. She'd knock him out when it would become too much to bear. She was pragmatic like that.

He swallowed.

"Voldemort managed to hurl the Three-Month-Curse at me after I planted that dagger in him. That's it then. Nothing to do. You've said I've been in a coma, Hermione. How long have I got left?"

"I stepped in front of the curse."

His eyes shot open. Assaulted by the diffuse light, he was hit with another wave of nausea. He dry-heaved. Cold, strong, feminine arms jerked him upward, and pushed him into a position wherein he could throw up at his leisure without suffocating himself. When he was finally done he felt as if someone had wrung out his stomach. But he could deal with pain; he had done so before, after all. Wandlessly he charmed his mouth clean and fresh, and with the help of those strong arms – he sat himself up to get a good look at his sister in all but blood. Something was off. For a dying girl she had a surprising amount of strength.

Harry blinked at what he saw.

Even though he saw it, he had difficulty to accept or believe it.

"..."

"I am not, perchance, hallucinating?"

"No, you're not."

He blinked again.

"..."

"You're a statue." Harry said, for reality's sake; not truly comprehending what he saw. The statue smiled Hermione's sad smile, and nodded.

"It has been a year, Harry."

"Do you mean to tell me I've been in a coma for a year?"

"Yes."

"And you died and became a statue?"

"Yes."

"Hermione, please tell me you weren't alone when you – __you died__– to such a horrible fate?!"

"Kreacher cared for me."

"He did?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. He hadn't seen that one coming.

"Of course he did, Kreacher and I both have you in common."

"I might not get it right now but I can come back to that later. Did you tell me just now that I have been in a coma for a year when we have magic that can heal a broken spinal cord in a minute?"

Statue-Hermione nodded.

"But, __how__?"

"Kingsley said he couldn't guarantee your safety in Saint Mungo's with the amount of death-eaters and sympathizers on the loose. Poppy died as well that night. I had no professional health care place to go to in order to get you the help you needed. According to my diagnose you were suffering from severe blood loss, severe magical exhaustion, a pulverized sternum, five broken ribs, a punctured lung, magically induced brain inflammation, a ruptured kidney; your body was failing to deal with the five minutes of Crucio! And the cherry on top – how could we forget – you were hit with a second Killing Curse that night, Harry! My medical scans told me you've crossed over for a minute. In case you forgot, a leeching horcrux had just been ripped off your soul!"

"And rather than making sure I got the private funeral I've always wanted, and my testament is followed to the T, you step in front of the curse that only confirmed the inevitable at the time?" He couldn't help but ask it, this was incredulous even for the stunts Hermione pulled from time to time.

The statue made an uncomfortable combination of a nod an a shrug – typically Hermione.

"What were you thinking?!"

"Oh shut it, you would have done the same thing, and you would have been just as thoughtless about it as I was at the time. It's our foolish, reckless Gryffindor nature after all."

"...Ok, so you weren't thinking; like as I wouldn't have. Voldemort just drew his last breath, I was already knocking on Death's door, and you had been hit by the Three-Month-Curse. Then what?"

"The first thing I did was hit the two of us with a general notice-me-not field, with a bit of obliviate in – just enough for people to know you killed Voldemort, but not enough for people to know you were about to die, and I just signed my own death warrant. Then I put you in the strongest stasis spell that I knew of, and had a good cry."

"And after you had your cry?"

"I send a patronus to Kingsley, who basically told me I was all on my own and that anywhere public wasn't safe. So I did the only logical thing, I summoned Kreacher."

Harry decided that now was not the right time to find out whether or not her logic had become convoluted as summoning Kreacher didn't really sound all that logical to him, and asked further.

"And Kreacher told you what Black-property would be safe?"

"Exactly. He send us to the Black-property that he had evacuated all the stuff from Grimmauld Place to."

"So we traveled to another Black-mausoleum with the courtesy of the Kreacher-express?"

"Well, yes. And here we are. But this mausoleum had the most extensive library I've ever come across. It is bigger than the Hogwarts library."

"That's impressive."

"It is, isn't it?"

"You don't sound half as enthusiastic as I thought you would be."

"I know it all."

"What do you mean, you know it all? You haven't been able to read half of the Hogwarts library in the six years you attended the place, and now you had three months to live, and a dying friend under a stasis charm!"

"Well, I admit I was in frenzy to save us both, and you especially because I didn't have all the time in the world, but __Death visited that night.__"

_"Death visited?"_

"Yes, He came with the stone and cloak you dropped in the forbidden forest – I didn't forget to bring the wand you won of Voldemort."

"You mean to tell me that __Death __came here, and delivered his stone and cloak to a dying boy and girl? Why on earth would a deity do that?"

"It turns out you truly __have __become Death's master. Death sounded disgustingly pleased with the whole affair, to be honest."

"...So, a Happy Death came to deliver the stone and the cloak, and saved you by turning you into a marble statue?"

"No."

"He healed me?"

"Well... No."

"Then what did he do?!"

"Do you honestly think I know for sure what that deity did to you?!" Hermione sounded frustrated. "One minute He was holding all three Hallows, and the next, you had them burned into your chest!"

"Into my...?"

"Yes!" Screeched Hermione, agitated. "You have the most curious burn-mark over your chest, let me tell you!"

"And did He say anything about what that meant?"

"Apparently, that meant that from that moment on, you were the Master of Death. Irrefutably and irrevocably so. From that moment on, it would be impossible for you to die."

"And it still took me a year to heal?"

"Death told me I could take you out of the stasis straight away, and let you heal naturally. He said it would feel like local crucio's on your wounds until they healed – for a week. I could hardly do that to you. Never mind the fact that I didn't want you to have a mental breakdown because I still would be dying on you."

"But you did, and now you had to die alone as well."

"Ok! So technically I did die. But I wasn't alone – I had Kreacher. He was there for me. And I have found the glamours to appear human in all the ways that count, but I thought it'd be important for you to be unable to deny the fact that I am but a statue right now, and that there is a corpse of me that you must bury."

"Why didn't you do so yourself?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to take liberties with putting my corpse on a family lot... Never mind the morbidity of burying your own corpse... And I thought that a nicely conserved corpse of me would drive the fact that I'm dead home to you. You must accept that I'm not alive anymore."

"Ok, so you died." Harry allowed. "And don't think I don't appreciate it; you being a statue, that is – because I do! ...But why on earth do I have a solid marble statue wearing Hermione's face in front of me, using her voice, and her facial expressions?!"

"I dreaded the thought of being an oil painting of a muggleborn in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"..."

"That can't be all, Hermione."

"I know how you are, Harry. And I know you shouldn't be left alone. And that's the crux of the matter; you are all alone. Ron and Ginny died. After the fact they found out that both Fred and George were hit with the Three-Month-Curse as well. Fenrir finished the job on Bill. Fleur died two months later at child birth. Teddy didn't survive his first transformation, three days after Remus died. Tonks lost her concentration in the middle of her duel when she saw her husband fall. Andromeda grieved so much she stopped living. Molly lost four sons. You, the fifth, were missing; she's turned into a right basket case."

"When Percy and Charlie had her admitted, Arthur was alone in the Burrow. He hung himself after he came across the ghoul they dressed up as Ron before they had to leave their home. The wizarding world is in a frenzy. Your newest sobriquet is 'the Vanquisher'. I have had to ward the place against owls that were commanded by their owners to get your DNA – I don't know how or where some found it, but the brothels have big business. And that's hardly all of it. The whole aftermath has accumulated into something grown so vastly out of its proportions that you shouldn't have to deal with it alone. And you would have been alone if I were a painting."

Hermione took Harry's hands in her cold marble ones.

"A painting can't hug you when you need it. And to get over all the shit you've been through, and you undoubtedly so will go through, you are going to need a lot of hugs."

He regarded her for a long time, and could see nothing but sincerity.

"Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome."

"So how did you manage to make yourself seem so alive when you are nothing more but a marble statue with similar charms as a magical portrait has?"

"I didn't want to leave you alone, nor did I want anyone else in your vicinity. I cannot paint to save my life, but buying a piece of marmer, and transfiguring it into a statue that likens my image is peanuts."

The statue shrugged.

"I, as a statue, am a completely new and experimental cross over between wand-core theory, theory on the strength and longevity of blood-magic – a lot of my own to keep my essence, and a bit of you to bind myself to you – and a full month of runic enchanting rather than charming while dosing myself on the life-force potion, and putting everything I am – or rather was – into this statue. When Death came for me he had to congratulate me on a job well done – managing to circumvent the inevitable, staying for the sole purpose of accompanying It's Master. Apparently I've put enough blood, life-force and general positivity and love for you in it to make it a light horcrux. I unintentionally bound half of my soul to this statue."

"That's...wow."

"I know. Especially because it means that for some part I did manage to overcome that dreadful curse. It might have killed me, but somehow it didn't get all of my soul." The statue sighed dramatically.

"The one thing I achieve true brilliance in with my magic and intellect, and I do it in such way that I cannot tell anyone about it, lest it – and I – be destroyed." She snorted. "Not that they'd have a easy job to do that, I've made myself unbreakable, and impervious to all foreign magic. Meaning any magic other than yours and mine."

"You did ward yourself against fiend-fyre, did you?"

"After destroying the damn cup with Bellatrix' vault? Of course I did!"

"Killing Curse?"

"No, but Death told me that if you'd throw yourself in front of a Killing Curse directed at me with the purest intention of saving me, I'd have the same protection against it as you had from your mother; that kind of magic for a statue-friend whom you love as a sister comes with the territory of being the Master of Death and all that."

"Huh... So what did you mean earlier, when you said you 'knew it all' when we were talking about a library larger than Hogwarts Library?"

"I may have came up with a book ledger enchantment, and have tied myself to a few runes I placed in the corners of the library. Every written word within those corners, I'll know."

"That's not all, is it?"

The statue winced.

"No. That's how it started. Kreacher thought it was an excellent idea to make sure you would have someone around that would know what you needed to know. So he had me hold still as a statue – which was rather easy for me because that's all I am – and told the Goblins in his most imperious voice that he was to visit his Master Lord Potter-Black's library vaults at Gringotts. The Potters and Blacks had quite a few books they didn't dare to keep within their homes – far too illegal."

"Ok, so the largest library of the Black family and the book vaults, that's it?"

"No, I've been liberal and have tied myself to every home, estate and barn you own; every written word in each entire place – if a post-it note enters one of your properties, I'll know it."

He watched her shift uncomfortably at his unrelenting gaze. How that worked for a statue though, Harry did not want to contemplate.

"...And I might have also tied myself to the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge, St Andrews, Glasgow, Abberdeen and Eddinburgh."

Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Oh alright! I snuck into the MoM and tied myself to the department of mysteries and the law administration as well... And the whole Diagon and Knockturn Alley and Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. So whenever there is a book that I think I cannot forget because it might be useful someday, I can either send an elf to buy it for your collection, or I can write the copy myself."

"Isn't that a bit excessive?"

"Merlin have mercy! Have you already forgotten the nightmare those horcruxes were? Because I haven't. It was a bloody nightmare, I tell you. And we didn't know what to do, we felt inadequate and were angry at each other... Heck, having the right information could have saved us so much time. The sad part is, that now I have the combined knowledge of all these places, I could write my own book on horcruxes, and it would take more pages than _Hogwarts, a History_, the extended self-updating edition! Not to mention; every time a kid takes a grimoire to Hogwarts, I'll be able to copy it for you. You can't die Harry, and if it's up to me I'll make sure you won't rot your brains out with boredom. When I am done with you you will be master in every field we could possibly imagine."

"Hermione, I love you dearly, but are you sure that isn't a bit ambitious?"

"Not at all, we have forever, after all."

"Oh dear."

She smirked.

"Do you want to know the fun part of all that accumulated knowledge?"

If she noticed Harry's whimper, she ignored it.

"With the combination of all the university knowledge on the space-time continuum and the knowledge on time magic of the department of mysteries, I know that it is a matter of time before I figure out how we can travel through space-time without the use of and the restrictions of a time turner!"

"Like a wormhole?"

"Of course not. Those are fancy names for when space-time punctures itself with a black hole. And since a black hole tears light and space-time apart, it'll tear you apart. I was thinking along the lines of of apparition."

"Huh?"

"Space-time, Harry. It's interwoven. You can't point out a 'where' without a 'when', otherwise it'd be a very chaotic world we'd live in. I'd imagine there'd be some very confused Romans walking around in Oxford Street right now, if there wasn't a 'when' to specify our 'where'. Whenever you apparate you are basically ripping space-time apart to change your position within said space-time, while concentrating on a 'where' and a 'now'. In theory, you could just as easily concentrate on a 'where' and a 'when'."

"You don't say."

"I do. Trust me when I say this theory is solid."

Harry smiled, that was his Hermione. A loose cannon whenever she had her light bulb moment. Never living in the now, always dreaming of the future. Unstoppable. But as he looked at her he couldn't help but be reminded that this was a copy, a memory. Not the real deal.

"You truly are scary but brilliant." Harry sighed. "Ron had an apt description there. Shall I write that down as an epitaph, since you want me to bury you?"

Ignoring him completely, she talked further.

"As I was saying, we could take holidays to ancient cultures. Learn long forgotten magics. Get to know __the __Cassandra, Circe, Merlin and Morgana. Befriend the Founders. Save some magical creatures from extinction – I know you'd love to have your own petting farm. It'll be fun!"

"Ok, Hermione. You make your plans to tear our space-time continuum apart –"

"I just explained to you that we magical people already do that on daily basis!" Hermione interjected, sounding affronted.

"– As I said, you make your plans while I see if I can book a portkey to Australia. It won't do for your parents to keep their memories from being restored. The least I can do is make sure they will be able to attend your funeral."

It didn't work, she still blathered on.

"But first, I'll make a comprehensive list of stuff we have to know and master before we can endeavor such travels. Oh, I know I'd love to get to know the Sumerian culture..."

Exasperated, Harry didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. That pushy force of nature she could be was just what he needed. It had been a stroke of brilliance to make herself into a living statue. When trying to accept the knowledge that everyone he cared for was dead and he couldn't see them again because he was the bloody Master of Dead he could do with some marble hugs. Yes, luckily he still had Hermione. Sort of.

* * *

><p>AN: A crazy oneshot, I know, but this is a idea that is rather original. Or so I hope. In fact, I might or might not elongate this into a proper story. However, if anyone actually thinks they can do something with this, they are free to make it into a story of their own. Though I'd love to get a link so I could read whatever you make of it.


	9. Harry's vault

**Harry's vault**

_"Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts."_

* * *

><p>"All of this is mine?"<p>

"Yes."

"Hagrid, the Daily Prophet was 5 knuts, wasn't it?"

"Yes, why?"

"If I'd say that a muggle newspaper would cost 1 pound sterling, and the Daily Prophet costs 5 knuts, I could assume 5 knuts is about 1 pound sterling, or 1 knut 20 pence, correct?"

After seeing Griphook's confirming nod, Harry went happily on, glad that he could finally show off his talent in math without being reigned in by the Dursleys because he would make his fat cousin look bad by comparison.

"29 knuts divided by five would be... 5,8 knuts... or 5,80 pounds."

At yet another nod from the approving goblin – logical wizards were a contradiction in itself – Harry grinned and became even more enthusiastic.

"That means 1 sickle is about 5,8 pounds sterling, and 17 sickles or 1 galleon almost 100 pounds sterling, correct?"

Griphook gave Harry a approving nod.

"The exchange rate we have is 100 pounds sterling to a galleon and 1 galleon to 100 pounds sterling, our profit is 1,4%."

Harry nodded happily when he heard he hadn't lost his touch.

"This is truly an obscene amount of money. Correct me if I'm wrong, but could I estimate that I have at least one cubic yard of galleons in front of me?"

Hagrid, looking befuddled at the mathematical talk stayed silent; Griphook on the other hand grinned.

"I'd say that you're being modest, Mr Potter."

Tentatively, he walked towards the closest mound of gold coins – galleons, he reminded himself – to pick a single coin up. He peered at it.

"About a inch long and 1/5 inch thick... That means a stack of 5 galleons would be a cubic inch."

With a gleam in his eyes he began to count.

"One cubic yard would mean 36 inch times 36 inch times 36 inch..."

He was silent for about a minute until he had it figured out. It would be 46656 coins... times five of course... And he began to think again until he knew he had it right.

"One cubic yard of galleons means over 233.000 galleons! That's over 23 million pounds! I'm a multi millionaire!"

Harry's grin became somewhat maniacal.

"I'm not going back to the Dursley's until school begins if I easily can afford lodging."

Harry looked up to Hagrid.

"What is the recommended amount of money for standard school stuff?"

Hagrid frowned.

"Hogwarts always recommends a shopping budget of about 30 galleons for first years, though we manage 25 galleons if it is from the school trust. In the following school years when a student has basic equipment, and when the purchases mainly consist of parchment, quills, potion ingredients and books, it is about 10 galleons."

Harry beamed up to the half giant.

"In that case I am definitely going to splurge a bit on some things... I think 70 galleons ought to be more than enough."

Hagrid looked as if he was about to protest, but he could see that Harry wouldn't take no for an answer.

…

At the end of the day Harry sat in a room of the Leaky Cauldron with his new pet Hedwig, and thought of what he had accomplished now he knew he a bit financial leeway.

He had successfully convinced Hagrid that he didn't have to go back to the Dursley's – Dudley's pigtail was a solid argument.

He had bought not only a wand, but after questioning Mr Ollivander he now knew how to care for it, and how to carry it (the holster was neat).

Harry had managed to buy a super deluxe school trunk with some sort of magical lock that only he could open, it had seven dimensions of which one consisted of a library drawer. The sales-man had said that the drawer had truly the capacity of a decent library.

And even on the first day he managed to start a nice book collection. On recommendation of the most impressed goblin Griphook, Harry had bought a large variety of Arithmancy books. He also had managed to find a introduction books to wizarding culture for the muggle born and raised; several books on wizarding etiquette and a whole lot on modern magical history – he wanted to know why everyone was staring at his head. The crown on his new collection were the books on self defence; after being told that lots of 'bad guys' weren't in jail, he knew that decent self protection wasn't optional.

When the store clerk found out of Harry's desire to buy a whole lot of books, he also recommended several books on the hows and why's of the art of potion making, and even more important: a book that consisted of nothing else than a long catalogue of all magical flora, fauna and other magical stuff found in nature; with charts of their magical properties and their reactions with other magical substances.

After flipping his extra potion books through, he couldn't understand why these weren't mandatory.

…

At the end of august Harry knew what kind of environment the wizarding world was, and thanks to _Hogwarts, a History_ he even knew what to expect of his new school (he wanted to be in Hufflepuff; loyalty, hard work, and more important – justice! After ten years of living with those horribly unfair relatives of his, he appreciated the idea of having dorm-mates with the same values. In fact, Harry thought he could be proud, were he to be defined by such traits.

On a different note; Harry managed to spend a good portion of his new found capital in the muggle world. He would go to school with a whole new wardrobe – summer and winter – and even stuff in a few sizes up in case he suddenly started growing at school. He had found himself a new pair of glasses, and was overall happy that he at least looked normal.

…

Harry was glad he wouldn't be completely ignorant.


	10. Harry's Love

**Harry's Love**

A/N: because everyone is doing it... pairing: slash

* * *

><p>Harry walked home with a skip in his step. Three years ago he doubted he'd live to see his eighteenth birthday, but look at him now! Not only did he manage to beat Voldemort, but doing so had made those who didn't initially jump the 'Boy-Who-Lived' band wagon, grudgingly admit there was more to him than some vapid brat that rode the coattails of the fame that came with his mothers sacrifice.<p>

He had returned for his 'eighth' year at Hogwarts, and managed to get himself eight N.E.W.T.S. and, after another year of hard work, his A-levels as well. He could tell himself he had finally accomplished something.

What was even better, was that he had studied for his A-levels while living on a perpetual cloud nine. He was in love, and his love loved him as well. The last year had been bliss. While he hardly could deny that his love wasn't an easy man, he was his.

And while Ron and Hermione had had their doubts at first, once they were sure Harry was free of any and all potion influence, and his love seemed to be genuine in his affection to Harry, they had given Harry their blessings, even though they might not have understood.

But tonight wouldn't be about them. It'd be about Harry and his love, no-one else. It was, after all, their one-year anniversary. That's why he had all the ingredients for a lovely three course dinner with him, in which he would cook his love's favourites – he had already fought with Kreacher over the rights to the kitchen this day; and luckily Kreacher seemed to understand the concept of why Harry wanted to cook by himself.

Not that Harry could get used to it, Kreacher had grumbled. But that didn't matter, today was the first day of the summer holidays, and after their romantic dinner, Harry would surprise his love with Portkey tickets for a week long holiday. It would all be perfect.

...

"Severus, the entire evening you've had the most peculiar expression on your face, are you finally going to tell me what's that all about?" Harry asked, voice muffled into his love's naked shoulder, savouring the feeling of the man still in him – talk about post-coital bliss.

"Yes, it is about time," Severus said, sounding rather contemplating.

"Huh, you can't be talking about the Portkey, I only told you about that half way through desert, and we still have three ho-ours." Harry stated, moaning halfway through the last word as Severus pulled out of him and started dressing himself.

"Of course I'm not talking about the Portkey, you idiot boy," Severus sneered.

Feeling rather hurt at the choice of words of his usually very kind lover, he stood up and laid his hand on Severus' hip.

"What's all this about, then, love?"

The older man pointedly took Harry's hand of his hips and softly pushed Harry backwards, out of his personal space.

"You can't tell me you've never wondered at the fact that, when you confessed your feelings to me, I reciprocated your feelings at all?" The man asked, scathingly.

With wide eyes, Harry gave his significant other an uncomprehending stare.

"What's with the passed time?" Harry joked before he answered properly.

"Of course I did at the beginning. I mean, the only reason I confessed to you at all is because I wanted to get it out of my system – I never thought you would feel that way about me. I was ready for a heart break, I just needed to hear it form you to move on, really. In fact, the entire first month I woke up thinking it was all a dream, only to turn around and see you next to me. I can't begin to describe how much happiness you've given me, Severus. I love you."

"Well, that's the thing, Harry, I don't love you."

"What are you on ab – "

"Don't interrupt me, Harry. You've got to listen to what I'm about to say. I do not love you, nor have I ever held any love for you. On my magic I do so swear, _expecto patronum_."

"There," he said, after the doe shot out of his wand.

"You cannot dismiss that."

Harry felt shell shocked.

"But, for Merlin's sake, why?" He managed to get out through lump in his throat.

"I have abhorred everything you represented since the day you were born. I thought you knew this. The fact that you came to confess your love to me on your graduation day in itself is laughable. I never stopped to detest you, and when you came to me and surprised me with that confession of yours, I saw an opportunity. I saw the opportunity to completely ruin you and your loathsome ego. Truly, you've set yourself up for this."

"Pah, and you ask me why... You aren't even my intellectual equal. I can't discus magical theory with you, let alone potions. The last year you've been a decent fuck Harry, but no more than that. You, Harry James Potter, completely and utterly disgust me. You've always did, and won't stop to do so. I simply waited with saying this so I could see you crumble completely unlike you would have a year ago."

The man looked like he did, indeed, take sick pleasure in Harry's silent tears.

"This is the only warning you'll get: if you try to either cross or approach me in any way or manner – even if it is through your horridly inquisitive friends – I will not hesitate to send pensive memories to the press. They're still speculating whether Granger is dating both you and Ronald, or if you're shacking up with the youngest Delacour girl; aren't they? I'm sure they'll have a field day with the fact that the Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived extraordinare, is nothing but a wanton little cum dump in the bedroom, that easily comes from nothing more but sucking my dick."

The man sneered some more.

"Now stop snivelling like the pathetic child you are. It's repugnant is what it is. I'm happy to finally be able to wash my hands off you."

With those words he turned on his heel, and Apparated.

* * *

><p>AN: And thus my answer to the HPxSS fics, truly imho HPxDM is less far-fetched. I truly do not get Snarry. The man hates everything 'Potter', and I cannot, for the life of me, imagine any kind of circumstanes where Snape would fall in love with Harry, a boy that's 2 decades younger than him. I got the idea for this oneshot some random time, stumbling across yet another unbelievable HPxSS; but the moment I had the will to truly write it was when I read **Publicola**'s a/n in "wait, what?" c7, called 'safer with the convict' where the author in question raises some good points in Snape's role in trying to have both Sirius' ánd Remus' soul sucked out.

The open ending is a conscious choice. In my first version I had Harry commit suicide, while Snape send a letter to the press while dumping him... with the following tail: [A week later Bill and Fleur are breaking Grimmould Place's wards after the begging of Hermione and Ron. They find him and his suicide note, and Kreacher mad with grief because he was ordered not to save him, and not to seek help.]  
>Alas, it wrote itself the way I've posted it. How do you feel about Snarry?<p> 


	11. Death's Consort

**Death's Consort**

* * *

><p>August 1, 1980<p>

The set of brand new parents took a breath of relief when they and their first born son finally were home, within the safety of their wards, away from the war. As such they found themselves rather surprised when their minds were assulted brutally, and woke up in a wasteland, looking at what might have been a carbon copy of James, if not for Lily's vibrant eyes, and a prominent scar that reminded Lily strongly of the Sowilo rune.

She immediately tried to remember it's significance. Seat of the soul; revelation, wholeness, strengthening the charka; cosmic energies; motivation; life-giving force; action; honour, life purpose... And a few more she couldn't quite remember.

Before she could compose herself enough to comment on the remarkable scar or it's magical significance the man spoke.

"Hello, mother, father. I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. In body I may be a newborn, but in mind I am old – older than you. You see, I'm stuck in this lifecycle – the shell that is Harry James Potter, and this is the sixth time I am living this life _again_. Seventh if you count my original life as well. Any patience I might have once had, is long gone."

No matter how outlandish this claim was, the sincerity of the statement was undisputed.

James was the first to regain his wits.

"Patience for what, Harry?" He asked, feeling uncomfortable to call this individual whom clearly was much older than they 'son'.

"To do the normal growing up thing again. It is tedious, never mind disastrous. If we let fate run it's course I have no doubt you will kick the bucket in a year and a half... Just like in my last six lives. I hope that without me, you'll have a fighting chance in this war, while I try to accomplish what I haven't managed in said last six lives."

Lily blinked.

"What could you possibly haven't accomplished while trying to live your life over and over again?!"

"Become the Master of Death, of course."

"_Excuse me?!_" James half shouted, half squeaked.

Harry gave a mirthless snort.

"That was my first response as well. It is but of course just the human title. Think of an equal. A consort. I suppose I ought to give you a bit of a back ground story with this." He took a deep breath.

"You know of the prophecy? Good. Know then that Voldemort decided to act upon it, and that you guys went into hiding under a Fidelus Charm in the hopes to protect the three of us. It didn't work out. Voldemort found us anyhow, and killed the two of you. On that note, you might want to check Wormtail's arm for a fancy tattoo. But never mind that. This is where it gets complicated."

Harry tapped on the Sowilo-scar Lily had been trying to analyze earlier.

"My mother was afraid that the inevitable might happen, so she tried to instill another protection. The Sowilo rune, carved into my forehead, infused with the blood of the two of you. Quite successful. You two selflessly gave your lives for my protection, strengthening the rune tremendously. It was strong enough to backfire a Killing Curse from Voldemort himself at the hight of his power. The problem is herein lies with that, you successfully garnered the attention of a higher power that got quite obsessed with me."

James flinched.

"Not Dumbledore, is it? Or, heavens forbid, another Dark Lord?"

Harry shook his head.

"Yamaraja. The twin of Hypnos. The rider of the Pale Horse. Death."

"No!" Lily gasped.

"Yes. Your clever rune placement was enough for Death to keep a close eye to me, and to become intrigued. The lonely deity finally decided that I was to become its consort. In order to do that, I was to gain two objects that would go well with the cloak I inherited from you, father. A certain wand and stone."

"But that's a myth... Impossible..." James protested weakly.

"Yes, because that's why your infant son managed to trap you both in a world constructed by Occlumency and had this conversation with you. Give me a break. From as young as I can remember Death started flirting with me, and I flirting with Death. Tumbles down the stairs, starvation, Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Trolls, Acromantulas, Baslisks, Dementors, Dragons... More Killing Curses. Far before I recognized it for what it was Death and I were in a mating dance."

Harry sneered.

"In a way it was prophetic that they started calling me _the Boy Who Lived_."

"The last six lives I haven't managed to unite those three items, which had Death – whom is becoming more and more demanding each year – put me in this infernal loop in order to try again until I succeed and become Its proper consort. This will not happen again. So here is what we are going to do..."

Three hours later a sixteen year old Harry James Potter, infinitely glad for the aging-potion Lily managed to brew so quickly, Apparated to Little Hangleton wearing nothing but the Peverell cloak.

A few hours later he slipped the ring onto a sleeping and stupified Albus Dumbledore's hand. Ignoring the fast working curse on the ring he took Albus' wand form his nightstand, and summoned the stone of the ring.

He ignored the magical rush he felt, as well as the sweet whispers in his ear. He had to go to his parental home. Give his fathers wand back, produce a homunculus with a convincing case of SIDS, obliviate the hell out of them, and to magically ensure they weren't discouraged in their attempt at procreation by their firstborn dying so soon. Even if he wouldn't grow up with them, he loved the idea of siblings.

Now he could descent into perpetuity with his eternal lover.

* * *

><p>AN: This wasn't about some weird ritual so Harry would beat Voldemort in the end. In this story Voldemort is an afterthought. Maybe Harry deals with him out of sheer spite. Who knows? This was about Death as an entity (a intriguing concept within the HP Universe), with an unhealthy obsession with the Boy Who Lived, who wants Harry for Itself. Or at least the result thereof.


	12. Finding a secret Keeper 101

**Finding a Secret Keeper, 101**

_When using Fidelus following Dumbledore's advise..._

A/N warning: mention of slash-threesome

* * *

><p>Lilly had that glint in her eyes again. Whenever she looked like that, James wisely decided that he'd leave her to make the important decisions, and act like a properly pussy-whipped husband. Not that she would allow him to actually have an opinion at such times. So when he came home with his wonderful wife after visiting the Order of the Phoenix where they just had a very emotional conversation with Albus, Frank and Alice regarding their son and godson, he simply did as his wife ordered. He complied when she unceremoniously handed him Harry with the words: "Don't you dare to leave our baby-boy out of sight right now."<p>

"I'll be," he muttered as he automatically he shifted to make Harry comfortable in his arms. "Talk about sounding ominous."

He could have sworn that she had woven magic into that command.

Thus he sat meekly on the couch while his wife bustled through the house in a frenzy, and tried to ignore the the noise that sounded as if she were raiding her own potions cabinet. After a particularly hard crash of what sounded like glass drowned whatever nonsense he was talking to his son, he simply hugged his little Prongs jr tighter and tried to pretend all was well. No, there wasn't a prophecy, Lily hadn't turned in Wife-zilla, and they most certainly did not live in times of war.

Maybe he should suggest to Lily for the three of them to move to the Bermuda. ...No. Random thoughts begone! His task was child rearing at the moment, he reminded himself. If she found him writing a letter to Gringotts real-estate division rather than playing with their little baby-boy, she would not be pleased. Excuses about fleeing dreary weather probably wouldn't work, James mused while absently cooing back at Harry. Daring to cross paths with his wife could very well be lethal, and there-fore ill-advised to do. She said she had a plan – a plan she was working on right now; yes, his beautiful Lily-flower would know what to do, like always.

…

"Lily," Remus asked, "why are you sealing the room so you have to be the first to leave alive and free of influence of potions and spells?"

"I was wondering about that as well," Sirius pondered out loud, "I recognize some of those, Lilz, I have read about that kind of stuff in the Black family library. Why on earth are you using these kind of lethal negotiation wards when we are under friends?"

"It... It is almost as if you don't trust us anymore, Lily." Added Peter, sounding aghast at the idea of being among people that couldn't be trusted.

"That is exactly what it sounds like, Peter," responded Lily with a grim face, while absently patting Harry on the head who was happily gurgling some incomprehensible words next to her breast in the baby carrier.

"Even though I trust all of you emotionally, rationally I know there is a spy amongst our midst, so I can't trust you. All of you."

The four men winced.

"So I have come up with a solution: a drinking game."

If it weren't such a dire situation, she would have loved to make a photo of the incredulous faces looking at her. James was the first to recover and began to sputter.

"A drinking game? Are you out of your mind, Lily? I know you have Irish roots, but come on! Alcohol doesn't solve anything! This is our son we are talking about." James began to gesture wildly in his agitation. "There is a megalomaniac that could very well be out to off our son as we speak, and you think booze is the answer? Wat the hell?!"

She made a scoffing noise.

"Don't be ridiculous James. Now, I expect all four of you to hand me your wands peacefully. If you do not comply I will take your wand, but it won't be peaceful." The tone of warning was light, but not to be taken lightly.

They all knew it. It wasn't just James whom she had proverbially beaten into submission. All four meekly presented her their wands. She nodded friendly with each wand she accepted, and put them all in her back pocket. The four defenceless men looked at each other when they saw Lily's smile becoming more forced and fearsome than it already was.

"Now boys, stick out your tongues, and wait for your three drops of Veritaserum – not much drinking, I know, but meh; who cares for semantics anyway?"

Not one of them dared to retort with anything. Twelve drops later she looked positively feral.

"Now boys, pay attention, here is my question: Are you a Death Eater, or in any way in alliance with Voldemort or his idea's?"

Simultaneously she heard three times "no I'm not", and one "yes I am". She was glad to see that Remus, who was sitting next to Peter, didn't waste any time by physically knocking him unconscious.

A few spells later he was as naked as the day he was born. Checking his now glamour-free wrist they saw the inevitable evidence. The three friends were very disappointed to see the Dark Mark on the wrist of their newly ex-friend.

"Remus, could you be a dear and check all of his openings for hidden port keys? I want to be thorough."

The werewolf grimaced, and did as asked; only to look completely disgusted when he found out he had to remove a genital piercing from Peter. Brilliant, if not disgusting. Remus didn't look sorry at all when he showed no mercy and ripped the thing off... Maybe not so brilliant after all. After their irrational male-sympathy wince Sirius and James nodded approvingly at Remus.

As he accepted his wand back from Lily, he did another spell to check if he had indeed removed all piercings. Meanwhile Lily was strapping the baby carrier off, after handing Harry back to James.

Ignoring the two almost-brothers, who were happy to occupy themselves with Harry in favour for not having to deal with Peter, she sat opposite of Remus, trapping the unconscious Peter between the two of them.

"That were all the portkey's?"

"Yes."

"Good, now would you mind turning him on his belly so I can have his back – good, thanks Moony."

Remus looked with fearful eyes at Lily who had no qualms about holding a wicked looking dagger – was that a silver alloy? Remus decided that she, in her capacity as a mother looked more feral than he thought himself, a werewolf, to ever be capable of.

"Lily, not that don't I approve, because I don't mind any harm you inflict on this... person, but what on earth are you carving on his back?"

"Runes."

Peter moaned softly, only to be kicked swiftly in the head by Sirius.

"Yes, we see that, but we aren't familiar with this particular array."

"It prevents his body to every be transfigured in anything ever again, Padfoot. In a moment little Wormy here will have lost his animagus form."

"Brilliant."

"I know," she said, with her voice sounding dangerously pleasant. "That's why I have mixed salt through the ink that I will rub into his wounds when I'm finished with this scarification. I want that filthy little rat to suffer."

Fifteen minutes later, the three men were looking approvingly at their turncoat-friend's back. Lily was a gruesome artist, they unanimously agreed.

Not that she cared for their approval. She proceeded by cursing Peter with extreme muscle weakness.

"Remus, pull him in sitting position and hold him so he can't move, Sirius, the second I enevervate him, I want you to hold his nose. The minute he opens his mouth I will pour this vial of Draught of Living Death in his mouth. When that's done, we don't have to worry about him anymore."

After two minutes of struggle, Peter looked dead for all intents and purposes.

"Now boys, Peter can wait right now, so here is what we will do. First I want Remus and Sirius to do a fatherhood blood-ritual to make sure you aren't his honorary uncles, or lawfully unacknowledged godfathers, but honest-to-Merlin daddies. In that case, when something happens to James and I, and Sirius does something incredibly dumb – and hasn't anybody to pay his bail, like he would have otherwise – Remus has full rights over Harry. Capisce?"

After a half hour of bickering they had finally talked Remus into giving Harry some of his blood – Lily had insisted that she had looked into it extensively for quite a while now, and concluded her little baby-boy would only benefit from it.

Two hours and an complicated ritual later, all three fathers were looking at Lily expectingly.

"Now we have taken care of almost everything. I want the four of us to swear an binding oath of protection and fidelity towards each other. You won't die or lose your magic if you break it, because the vow will physically incapable of doing so."

Four three-way vows later, Lily looked quite satisfied.

"Now I own a studio in Dorgheda in Ireland, James has bought this cottage in Godrics Hollow, Sirius inherited the little cottage from his uncle Alphard in Hogsmead, and Remus owns his cottage with excellent bunker in Ewloe, Wales. I want them all under fidelus. So here is what we are going to do."

She took a deep breath.

"I will be Sirius' secret keeper."

"Sirius will be James' secret keeper."

"James will be Remus' secret Keeper."

"And to complete the circle, Remus will be my secret keeper."

She was answered with smiles.

"Brilliant idea, Lily-flower; I don't know what we would do without you."

"Random recklessness, James. That's what you would be up to. Do not think I have forgotten that you wanted to name our precious son Elvendork..."

…

They didn't get any sleep, but at seven AM, four properties were under fidelus. The prophecy went unfulfilled when in 1982 Voldemort, in an attempt to make his seventh and final horcrux, disintegrated his body in the process. This was a year after Regulus Black died after drinking that horrible potion.

Two month's after Voldemort's death, Sirius couldn't be more delighted to hear that his mother finally kicked the bucket. Apparently, she went completely around the bend at seeing her youngest son's cold body. As Sirius took up the mantle as the new Lord Black, he asked Kreacher what the hell the elf thought he was doing, not cleaning the manor... And got a straight answer. The horcrux was brought to the department of ministries where they could do an easy ritual to make the soul whole, effectively gathering Voldemort's wraith as well. They destroyed the horcrux-holding-a-whole-soul in the ministry atrium in front of countless reporters, live on the WWN.

Protest against blood-racism eventually led to a revolution in which the ministry and the Wizengamot were occupied by an angry mob; sick of back-door politics and the undemocratic system. Harry's generation would know no war.

…

What Lily Potter hadn't anticipated was that the archaic fidelity oaths weren't so much meant for allegiance rather than devotion to one-another in arranged marriages. The very oath's nature came with a very strong compulsion against breaking or absolving it as well. Within months the need for physical contact was overwhelming. Walking in on all three of 'her' boys in the bedroom and seeing some of her dirtier fantasies played out in front of her was exhilarating. Demanding to be allowed to join in and be showered in their attention was intoxicating. Lily couldn't be a happier woman.

Within a year of that particular event James and Lily bonded their marriage and magic with Sirius and Remus as well. The lovers quartet was blissfully happy. Harry James Potter grew up to be an eldest brother to a pair of twins, Regulus Castor and Alphard Pollux Black; and their baby sister Lotus Larentia Lupin. All four of them had three daddies and one mummy. But no-one in the family would have it any other way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I just realized that whenever I write Lily I seem to be influenced by **Rorsach's Blot**'s **Odd Ideas**'s chapter 117 called **Spark of MADNESS**... In this oneshot Lily is portrayed as the somewhat unhinged mad scientist that steamrolls over everything and everyone, including her husband. My Lily isn't that extreme... Or funny... I hope you enjoy her nevertheless.


	13. Back in Time

**Back in Time, or 'Death's Consort, version 2'**

* * *

><p>Harry should have never touched that sodding cup. From that point on, everything went downhill. Seeing Cedric get hit by a killing curse was an experience he was certain he'd never forget. Being completely shell shocked from witnessing that, he didn't even have the presence of mind to duck and hide behind a gravestone or to actually defend himself. No, he let himself be dragged around, getting tied up and onto a marble headstone.<p>

Sometimes Harry found himself bemoaning the fact that Wormtail didn't accidentally hit one of his arteries with that blasted dagger of his, it would have been so much easier if he could have bled to death right then and there.

His OWL year was horrendous. He lost his godfather due his own stupidity. The year that followed was mentally taxing as well. He saw his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, die. But the moment he had truly left the frying pan for the fire would be his seventeenth birthday. When the wards fell at the Dursley residence, the moment they were about to leave, Death Eaters had been waiting for them. That night Hedwig, Alastor, George and Remus fell. The most tragic part was that Tonks didn't even know she was pregnant at the time. They had just been married for a week, at that point.

When infiltrating the ministry to get to Umbridge and the locket, Hermione had been captured. They met their objective, but never saw their friend again. Dobby died saving Griphook, Ollivander, Dean, Luna, Ron and Harry from the Malfoy manor. With Griphook double crossing them it was a wonder that Ron and Harry escaped from Gringotts at all. The battle at Hogwarts was a disaster. He didn't even want to begin to contemplate what Tonks thought she was doing on the battlefield, not even two weeks after giving an early and complicated birth to her son. She, Fred, Ron and Ginny died that night.

Snape died as well. The cunning head of the Slytherin House, who killed Nagini the moment she bit him. Who knew potion masters made it a point to be toxic themselves? Though he did manage to hang on long enough to give Harry that accursed memory. That was it then, he had to go before Voldemort would be able to go. And in a sick way, Harry was happy for that. He'd be happy to die.

"Blimey Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!" Neville squinted his eyes.

"Where are you going, all alone, under that cloak of yours?" Neville asked suspiciously.

Harry sighed, he knew that he had to tell Neville. But knowing what had to be done didn't make doing it any easier.

Not quite knowing what to do with himself, he hugged Neville. Infinitely grateful that Neville decided not to comment on the fact that Harry was shaking like a leaf, Harry relished in the human warmth Neville provided – the last human touch he would feel in his miserable lifetime; that was, if Voldemort would try to kill him immediately in stead deciding he would make a nice trophy, that a toy would be more fun – and began to whisper in Neville's ear.

He told him about what Ron, Hermione and he had done ever since last August, how he had been hunting scattered parts of the Voldemort's soul, which had been granting him his immortality. That he was certain that he was the very last one. That Voldemort somehow managed to tie his immortality to him on that fateful night, almost seventeen years ago. That, after Harry was dead, Voldemort ought to be mortal once more. To spread the word that a salvo of killing curses ought to do the trick. To thank Luna for being there for when his godfather died. That he was grateful to Neville for his unwavering support through the years, thank you. And lastly, "make a pensive memory out of this one", all he owned was to be divided between his godson Remus 'Ted' Lupin, Neville, Luna, and Hermione if – hoping against all hope – she were to be found alive somewhere. That he loved them all, and goodbye.

When Harry walked to his death he was actually relieved, he was happy that his job was done. He walked towards the end of his existence. No more grieving over his lost loved ones. Joining them in stead. Luckily, Voldemort was eager to accommodate him. Apparently his tenacity in not staying dead warranted more than one killing curse. Voldemort and all of his inner circle raised their wands.

A sea of green light, and everything was gone. Salvation.

…

…

It saddened Death that there was a wide spread misconception about It's appearance. A strange notion that Death looked menacing, wielded a large scythe and wore a dementor's cloak. It was quite the opposite, really. In fact, one couldn't be more wrong; Death did not look like those ridiculous drawings from muggles and wizards alike. Death had no need for a scythe, nor did Death look menacing; if anything, Death's habiliment was quite the opposite of a dementor's cloak. Death was soothing, mesmerizing if you will. Death might be compared with a Veela - one that could only entrance one person at the time, that is. That was because Death looked inconspicuous to those it didn't have to take yet, while enthralling to those it did came for.

When one would look Death in the eyes, all time would stop. One would be meeting a most ethereal and timeless gaze. One would be captivated by that gaze, and when the subject of Death's interest finally caught their breath they'd realized they'd already left their corporeal body. In such event a realization falls upon the individual in question; the realization it simply is time to move on.

There were exceptions of course. Witches and wizards so afraid of such a – after careful consideration – wonderful concept like Death, that they would use all their remaining magic in order to anchor themselves in the realm of the living. Too paralyzed in fear to move on. If they weren't afraid of Death they were afraid of afterlife, or sometimes even simply afraid of leaving the plain of the living. Such souls would stay behind.

Of course, every now and then there was a blithering fool that wasn't convinced in his or her own conviction to stay behind, or arrogant enough to think they deserved to be more than just a soul if they wanted to stay on the plains of the living – people foolish enough to tie part of their soul to the plains of the living. Death reunited their souls eventually. They never stayed.

On even a rarer occasion, an individual simply couldn't move on for the individual in question was not in a position to do so. A very rare situation indeed. An occasion in which an individual has risen as the true Master of Death. A strange concept all together of course; for Death was a free spirit and did not like to be enslaved, Death was perfectly content to have no Master, thank you very much.

But what was unforeseen by the otherwise omniscient forces of life, the universe and everything, was that when Death was created, Death had been pushed into a terribly lonely position. Pushed into the timeless position of being a constant in every where, every when; every time of each and every parallel universe and dimension. Pushed into a position so profoundly lonesome, that Death eventually figured it could even accept being enslaved if it meant that it would not have to feel that all-consuming loneliness anymore.

So when Death was actually outsmarted by those three obnoxious brothers, Death was very happy to 'grant' them their wishes; for Death could foresee the consequences of those wishes. And even better; if Death played it right, these obnoxious brothers would grant Death's wish by leaving a bloodline that would eventually lead to an eternal companion.

Death played Its game cunningly. The most obnoxious one of the three, the one that taunted Death over not being able to take him, asked for a superior wand. Death was happy to give the wand, and followed the wand in the trail of destruction it would leave behind. Everything went according to the plan; especially when the wand was 'won' again, by a certain Draco Malfoy. Death knew that the wand would soon switch owners again. Everything was nicely orchestrated indeed.

The brother that asked for a way to see his loved one was an individual that Death almost pitied for his stupidity. Almost. Death couldn't fathom why mortals were so afraid of crossing the proverbial river, why mortals were so afraid of eternal reunion. When they eventually were taken by Death, practically everybody was very happy with their situation. Like, for example, the deceased loved one of that brother.

Naturally she bemoaned the ruthless way of how she was dragged away from behind the veil, from her eternal tranquility. She did not like to be reunited with her living loved one, to be reunited with the endless trivialities that came with life. She kept mourning and bemoaning the serenity that was stolen from her, and soon, her loved one was broken; more than willing to cross the river to be by her side, and to accommodate her in being together in the endless ataraxia she had come to cherish.

The third brother managed to hide from Death and live until he deemed it was his time, he awaited Death with a smile upon his face. Death's cloak of invisibility eventually turned into a family heirloom, and Death saw Its cloak being passed into the right hands. The boy had already proved to be intelligent, extraordinary even. Death was happy to see how the other two items slowly ended up in the boys possession. First the stone, and then the wand. He acquired ownership of them without realizing it. Unknowingly, and most certainly not motivated by greed or misplaced fear for the concept of mortality that Death had come to envy so much, the boy became Death's master.

When the boy would enter a situation where he would otherwise find his early demise, Death would finally be able to greet Its new master, and to tell him how happy it was, that it wasn't alone anymore.

...

With veela-like quality Death made Itself known to the boy. For him, it would become an ethereal androgynous entity to be molded and shaped as the boy would wish. Thus Death proceeded to tell the boy that he had unknowingly obtained that which the boys adversary had tried to accomplish by splitting his very own soul and still did not manage to achieve. That the boy would be Its Master, and It was convinced that the boy would be delightful company.

To say the boy had not been pleased by the prospect of _not_ dying, would be like stating that the ocean is wet. The boy had begged, pleaded and cried; but Death would not give in. This boy would be Its companion whether he liked it or not. Eventually the boy had tried to explain to Death why he found returning to the plain of the living such a terrifying prospect: he had too little good and too much bad to return to. The boy had given up. His spirit was broken.

Death realized that somebody without the will to live – somebody unable to enjoy all the tiny pleasures that made life so exquisite – would hardly be the companion Death was looking for; so it pulled in some favours from both Fate and Time. Together they would give the boy one chance to turn everything for the better; to make his transition of surviving his loved ones more prolonged and natural. To make sure the boy would accept and enjoy Deaths company when he had to give up his mortality.

With tremendous reluctance Death conceded to allow the boy to slip out of Its grip again. To end up without the Hallows again. To fill Death's heart with uncertainty again. For how did Death know that they boy would end up with the Hallows again? The chances were positively astronomical. Within the infinite chances that all the different universes and dimensions represented, there were only about a few hundred-million worlds where magic was taken into the equation of whatever the universe could become. Only a few hundred-thousand where the earth has formed to the shape this boy knew it to be... Death knew there were only so many thousand worlds where James and Lily died for their son, setting the preexisting conditions that would ensure the boys enigmatic personality. Even less within those worlds where Death had taken the risk of 'rewarding' those Peverell fools with the trinkets that became the revered Deathly Hallows.

This boy, Harry James Potter, could very well be the one and only chance Death had for an immortal companion. Therefore Death was adamant to mark the boy as Its future Master. To link their magic on an intrinsic level. To make sure the Hallows would come to the boy – whether he liked it or not. Homing the boy's fate and destiny... Marking him. Death would submit to the boy as long as the boy would submit to Death. Only after the absolute insurance that the boy would become Death's master once more, Death could let him go.

…

...

Waking up, laying face down in complete silence was not planned. Being perfectly alone after the killing curse wasn't in his planning either. Why wasn't he seeing Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Remus, Tonks or his parents again? Why did he lay here, awake, naked as the day he had been born, in a white mist no less? He felt very vulnerable and had to take deep breaths in order to reign in the full blown panic attack that was bubbling just below the surface. And where were his clothes, damn it all!?

The next thing he new he was fully clothed; in Dudley's cast offs no less! Harry dismayed. He had woken up in a strange place he did not understand, with an even stranger cloudy vapor surrounding him and he didn't understand what was happening. He hadn't even had the time to finish his mental monologue of confusion and consternation, when suddenly the cloudy vapor begin to take a form, turning into some kind of entity with a beauty that could enthrall like no other. For all uncertainty Harry had right now, he knew one thing for certain. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

When the entity introduced Itself as 'Death' Harry thought he felt a major headache coming. Never mind the fact that Harry was apparently Death's master, and as such, he was not allowed to die. He did not like that. Not at all. Eventually Death had been rather empathetic to his feelings on the matter, and understood why Harry wanted to stop living. Dying, however, was not an option. The next thing Harry knew, Death was bickering with Fate and Time until the three of them came to a consensus. The three entities all faced Harry simultaneously, and bluntly told him he would be 'allowed' to start over from some point.

They would 'unweave' the fabric of time-space, yet allow his memories to enter a earlier him. Or something like that.

Death even had the audacity to brand him like cattle with Its mark, and tell him to use this opportunity to 'become a worthier master'! That Harry just wanted to die was easily ignored by the three entities. Well, never mind what Harry wanted, he was going back in time and that was the end of it. Fate truly was a bitch: 'Have fun being four again!' Oh joy.

…

…

Death smiled to Itself. It felt comfortable, the idea of staring into those beautiful green eyes and actually interacting; such thing did not often happen to Death. Simply existing proved to be remarkably tedious. But the monotony would soon end. For the boy with the eyes like a killing curse had – albeit reluctantly – accepted his destiny to become Deaths Master. From now on Death would happily submit Itself to whatever the boy wanted, for eventually, Death would not be lonesome anymore.

…

It was most disconcerting to suddenly be four years old again. You didn't wake up every day to find out that the world suddenly was a whole lot bigger, or even worse: to find out that you yourself had shrunk an considerable amount. Jefferson Airplane was definitely on to something in that area. Go ask Alice, indeed. The worst part was that he couldn't help but act like he found it disconcerting. And even though he had done nothing else but crawling out of his cupboard and helped aunt Petunia set the table like he was ordered to; he _knew_ that his aunt knew that there was _something_ off about him. Well, at least more 'off' than she or Vernon would usually consider him to be anyway. The way she kept looking at him said enough.

So when he was sent to the front door to gather the newspaper – and was inadvertently reminded of picking up his first Hogwarts letter from the very same spot – he knew that if he wanted to change status quo, he would have to lay his cards on the table. The moment breakfast was finished, and Dudley already out of the kitchen to play with his toys, Harry decided it was now or never.

"Aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon, I would like to talk to the two of you about the way you are treating me."

"Boy, you must be out of your mind if you think you deserve any privileges, you are nothing but a – "

"No." Harry said with a voice that sounded colder than the Arctic.

"Uncle Vernon, in seven years I will receive a letter from the Scottish private boarding school that recruited my parents as well. Whether you like it or not, I will accept their invitation, and assume my role in their society."

"You're talking nonsense, freak." Bellowed uncle Vernon in rage, being so offended by the way Harry talked to him that he completely bypassed the fact that Harry most certainly did not talk like a four year old.

"Your parents were good-for-nothing drunks that never amounted to anything. They were not good enough for private schools, and neither are you, so don't get any ideas, boy!"

"I will gladly tell you, dear uncle, aunt, that there is a whole lot of 'freakishness' involved regarding to _how_ I suddenly know that 'the horrible M-word' is very, very real. I won't bother telling you the details, because what happened to me sounds rather outlandish even if you are... What would you call it again? Oh, I remember, _'my lot'._ But, if I know you – and I'd like to think I do – you probably don't care much anyway; you are to pragmatic to care for the how's and why's."

Harry gave them no time to interject, and elaborated further.

"You care for results. To keep it simple: the result is that I know of my heritage. I know now that my mother and father were not killed in a car crash; they were murdered by a terrorist, hell bent on bringing civil war to Britain. Yes, my father did not have a job, but no, he was not an alcoholic lazy bum. He was of such a well to do family that he had_ no need_ for a job. Coincidentally, both he and my mother did spend a lot of their time volunteering in an organization that endeavored to thwart the terrorist and his group that eventually did them in."

"To this day, aunt Petunia, your sister – my mother – is remembered as one of the members of the Potter family that managed to bring an end to a reign of terror. Coincidentally, when the time comes, I will attend that school whether you like it or not."

This earned him some shocked expressions. Whether it was because they finally noticed that his eloquence surpassed the average four year old by a large margin, or because of his message, he didn't know. They were shocked enough to listen, and that was all that mattered to Harry.

"I urge you to be pragmatic about it. Your four-year old unwanted nephew suddenly has the memories of that very same nephew, almost fourteen years later. Not only could you turn me into bragging material whenever talking with your neighbors – making me into something you _don't_ necessarily have to be ashamed of – and I would even be willing to help you turn your son into an upstanding young gentlemen, which admittedly is a hard thing for you to do because you can't deny him anything, turning him into a very spoiled brat."

Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon were dumbfounded.

"Think about it, just for a minute. This could very well be a win-win situation. I promise I won't breathe a word of this to Dudley, and all you have to do is to give me my basic needs: a bed in stead of a cupboard, real food rather than scraps and clothing that aren't Dudley's hand-me-down's. Buy a book I can read about child development so I know how to act my 'age', and I will help you make sure Dudley doesn't turn into a little sociopath – do you really think those temper tantrums can go unchecked? By his eleventh birthday aunt Petunia was so scared of his anger episodes that she'd buy him whatever he wanted to appease him. I remember him throwing a tortoise through the greenhouse roof because he was denied something, for crying out loud! Your son needs to learn empathy and the meaning of the word 'no'. By the time he and I were sixteen he resorted to vandalism and petty theft because he was bored, and the two of you would turn a blind eye because you didn't know how to handle it."

He was satisfied to see his aunt and uncle turn white. Clearly they believed him regarding where their son was heading.

"I am more than willing to help you help him, but for him to give in to any kind of peer pressure from my side he'd have to see me as an equal in this household, and that means there will have to be some changes."

He was surprised that his uncle didn't look like he was about to have one of his famous bursts in temper, but was actually contemplating what he had said. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, seemed close to tears. It wouldn't surprise Harry if she was already having to start trouble with Dudley's behavior.

Vernon squinted at him; his entire demeanor screamed mistrust.

"And what if I say 'no'? What if I say I won't change a thing?"

Harry smirked, thoroughly enjoying seeing his aunt and uncle squirm at his expression on the face of a four year old.

"I spoke of the carrot, uncle Vernon, not of the stick. If you feel it is necessary to deny me my basic human rights and say 'no', I'll enjoy your struggles with your son from a safe watching distance. Moreover, I'll make you very uncomfortable while doing all kinds of 'freaky' and 'creepy' stuff. Mind you, it's all wandless and uncontrolled, so the effects might even be more disastrous as I plan them to be. Yes, I'll plan to be every bit the menace you made me out to be in my previous life. I assure you, I will plan to make you despair if you are above granting me the tiniest bit of human courtesy."

Aunt Petunia, who had her eyes shut by now, trying to dispel all the horror scenario's that floated through her mind asked a far better question.

"What do we have to do for you to make sure you won't create havoc and help Dudley behave?"

"Take me to Diagonally thrice, get me a book on the behavior of children so I know how to act my age, no more withholding food whenever something displeases you, no more wearing Dudley's cast off's unless he loses some serious weight, and a room of my own with a bed in it."

"Out, your aunt and I have to discuss this."

Harry smiled at them and hopped off the chair and walked to the living room, where he saw Dudley with his hand in the candy jar. He wondered how that boy would act when he was cured of his sugar-addiction.

Not long after being send out, he saw his aunt in the doorway.

"Harry," she said, while waving him back into the kitchen.

"Say we agree to this arrangement, can we expect you to keep silent about our... not so stellar treatment of you?"

Harry snorted, "My lot makes enough of a fuss about me already, Merlin forbid it increases. And because you actually do not give a crap about my wellbeing, you won't be restricting me in doing stuff what caring guardians would want to steer me clear from. Actually this works just fine for me."

His aunt blinked, trying to process what Harry just had implied, and shook her head as if trying to ignore it.

"And if we would agree with this, will you keep silent about this arrangement and your unnaturalness to Dudley and the neighbors?" She asked.

"Not a word."

"Swear it like your lot does," she hissed.

Harry raised an eyebrow, he was impressed.

"I, Harry James Potter," he drawled, "Swear on my _magic_ not to reveal said _magic_ to Dudley Derick Dursley and the neighborhood unless the absolute necessity of the situation calls for it. In such circumstance it is I, Harry James Potter, who reserves the right to decide the necessity of the situation. This oath will be invalid when my aunt Petunia Dursley née Evans or uncle by marriage, Vernon Dursley, fail to provide me with my basic human needs or deliberately fail to aid me in my return to the magical world when I turn eleven. So mote it be."

From that point on things improved drastically. If Harry could have overlooked their xenophobic tendencies he'd almost describe his relatives as 'pleasant'.

...

Petunia looked like she just had swallowed a lemon. Then again, the word 'magic' always did that to her.

"Can't've m-magic decide on the spot that I'm not aiding you by not bringing you to London right away. Ready to go?" She said with a sigh.

"Yes aunt Petunia."

"It's still the Leaky Cauldron?" How she managed to lay that much distaste in a simple name was beyond Harry.

"Yes aunt Petunia."

She clucked her tongue.

"Let me get my purse, and wait by the door."

Harry grabbed a cap and did as he was told.

…

"So we are in Diagonally, now what?"

"Now we go to the bank."

Petunia was pleased to find out that she'd get a creditcard that would only work when she wanted to pay for stuff she genuinely meant to buy for her nephew. The ' burden' was lightened immensely. That her nephew also acquired himself a purse that would curl up like a living thing for anyone other than him, filled with gold coins was something she tried to ignore.

Two hours later she had bought a book Harry had wanted, and much to her consternation a cloak that was meant for_ her _body. What the boy wanted with underwear, robes, _and a witches dress_ made for something called 'methamorphmagi' was something she did not want to contemplate. Period.

…

A week later Harry had made a shopping list that consisted out a lot of things needed for brewing. Harry thought that he was quite clever that he had thought to cross reference the more unusual potion ingredients that were used for polyjuce potion and that the final shopping list for potion ingredients didn't scream 'polyjuice' anymore. Not to mention the few other potions he could make that would be very useful to have.

Petunia was just glad to hear that this was the last trip in a long while. Harry said that he reserved his third trip with his aunt until his eleventh birthday, when he was supposed to be seen with her in the Diagon Alley.

…

Two months later Harry assumed Petunia Dursley's body and went to Knockturn Alley in search of a fitting wand. When he had time to spare he had found himself a few useful knickknacks and books that he knew would come in handy sometime. Especially the books on wards were a marvel. It wouldn't do for his old headmaster to have an inkling of the magic he'd be using. His excuse, of course, would be creating goodwill with his aunt through the wonders of anti-dust wards.

…

Uncle Vernon was happy he didn't have to hire contractors if Harry was able to turn the attic into another bedroom by himself and be discreet about it. Luckily Dudley was too young and dense to notice much; the 'rebuilding' of the attic went far too smooth and fast.

His aunt and uncle decided they did not want to know why he had magic-ed not only a three-door walk in closet, but a three door walk in display cabinet as well. As such, they tried to ignore the how and the why when he was asking his aunt for shopping trips to fill the damn thing with whatever greenery and whatnot belonged in either an aquarium or a greenhouse.

...

Five months after his first shopping trip in Knockturn Harry could weep from joy when the transfigured pig actually turned into a human being after taking the carefully altered polyjuice. Even better, it stayed like that when he killed it. He disposed of the 'bodies' by transfiguring them back into their original state - toilet paper. The Dursley's never knew of his 'experiments'.

Now he just had to find out information on Azkaban island.

…

A year after Harry arrived back in this time, Harry was a bunch of nerves. This was the night he had been working for ever since he arrived. The night of Samhain, the night magic usually was wonky. The night irregularities were overlooked. He apparated to Azkaban island.

…

The moment Sirius saw Prongs, he began to weep. So entirely caught up in the joy that the patronus radiated and the grief the form represented, he completely failed to notice that the woman at the other side of the bars transfigured him into a snake, and summoned him through the bars, only to wrap him around her neck. The sensation of human warmth only strengthened the haze of disjointed emotions.

He didn't notice her accio 'the most recently lost hair of Sirius Blacks human form' or the single sheet of toilet paper she placed in the cell and transfigured it into a pig. Neither did he notice how she fed the pig some strange polyjuice, and imperio'd the former piece of toilet paper whom now looked like him to lay on the cot and bite his tongue to choke on his own blood.

When he finally came to, he had the odd experience of seeing his own corpse – and not being a ghost at that! In a detached way he found his own corpse rather sad... But it wasn't him that had committed suicide in Azkaban; it had been a transfigured and polyjuiced piece of toilet paper.

"Thank you," he hissed, still too out of it to realize he was a snake right now.

When the mystery woman hissed a "you're welcome" back, he didn't even realize they were hissing at each other.

The next thing he knew the woman had apparated them to Gringotts. A private audience later – in which the woman turned out to be his _polyjuiced _five year old godson – they had it cleared that when Sirius Orion Black would be declared dead by the ministry, his money (which turned out to be the entire Black fortune as Walburga had died not too long after he went to prison) would be secure. It would go to his Godson, rather than the Malfoy's.

…

The next morning Petunia Dursley looked positively constipated when her suspiciously tired nephew announced that the snake around his neck was his new pet. The boy affectionately called his new pet 'Paddy' – _"it's a rhino rat snake; doesn't his green skin remind you of st Patrick's day?"_

And did Aunt Petunia want to buy his new pet – "_Where did you even get it? And why without the stuff you need for it? You say it's a tropical snake for crying out loud!" _–fresh mice and necessary accessories, and fish he could put in the aquarium-part of his paludarium, so 'Paddy' could catch them whenever he was hungry?

She blew a gasket.

...

'Paddy' didn't mind his new role as his godson's snake. Little fishes and other small vertebrates were actually an improvement for what passed for food in Azkaban. Not to mention the company was better. And the warmth, oh how infinitely grateful he was for the warmth. His godson, warm to the touch, who never minded it when he wrapped himself around him hugging him (more physical contact James would have ever put up with); stones in his palace of a 'cage' that were always warm due some clever runes; warm water to swim in; and if he was sick of the huge paludarium his godson made for a tiny snake like him, a wonderful windowsill where he could laze about in the sun all day... Without anyone who would say anything against him for it, because he was a reptile.

His new physiology didn't even hinder him in getting to know his godson better, because the boy spoke snake. Heck, he didn't even have to worry about fleas anymore. The only thing that bothered him was that he couldn't lick his bits anymore...

Despite that minor setback, the next six years were bliss for both Harry and Paddy.

…

When it was finally nineteen ninety-one Harry was glad to see his long-awaited letter between the mail. All Harry had to do was to hold it up and ask his aunt for his third shopping trip, to see her pale and nod. Vernon made quite the spectacle of distracting Dudley by deciding it'd be a nice day to go fishing with his son, who was infinitely better behaved than the one Harry grew up with the first time. Point; the kid could actually appreciate a father-and-son day.

Both Harry ánd Petunia were jealous of Dudley and Vernon, _they_ didn't have to play a perfectly happy family.

At the end of the day, Harry had his new school stuff, and send an hired post owl back to Hogwarts with the news he'd love to attend Hogwarts, provided he could take his beloved pet-snake whom he had with him ever since he was five, rather than a cat, owl or toad.

The next morning he read a letter that allowed him to take his unusual pet with him to Hogwarts.

…

By the time Harry set foot on Hogsmeade station, the entire student body knew the Boy-Who-Lived turned out to be a snake-owning parselmouth.

As such, everybody was rather surprised to see the Boy-Who-Lived end up in Hufflepuff, of all places. In the end all Harry's cleverness, cunning and blackmail to make his relatives comply, even his bravery were all overshadowed by Harry's tremendous loyalty towards his family and friends, his dedication to his godfather, and his strong sense of justice. Not to mention the hat had been enamored with his work ethic to get whatever was next on his planning done as well.

He couldn't possibly fit in a better house if he did say so himself.

…

Harry spend his first night in Hogwarts under the disillusionment charm, whacking Albus Dumbledore on the nose, and stealing the Elder wand ánd his cloak. Death demanded nothing less from him.

As Harry arrived in the Great Hall for his 'very first' breakfast at Hogwarts, Harry tried not to smile when he suddenly figured out why Paddy had been acting so smug ever since Harry woke up. Clearly, he wasn't the only one with errands to run on their first night back in Hogwarts castle.

In the great hall, Ronald Weasley could be found in tears because he found his pet-rat dead.

"_Asphyxia,"_ hissed the five foot constrictor rather superfluously in Harrys ear.

"_For that matter,"_ Paddy hissed, "_I've also nicked my map back; it wouldn't do for those Weasley twins to read my name on it."_

"_All while you were in snake form? You are getting stealthier."_

"_No, actually, I've spend so much time as a snake that I am more comfortable with it than my dog-animagus form. I can transfigure myself back and forth between dog and snake whenever I wish."_

"_What about being a human?"_

"_What have humans ever done for me? Sad as it sounds, I'm better off as your pet snake. Moreover, it wouldn't do to have the wrong people find out I'm not as dead as people think I am, would it now?"_

…

Dinner on September the third was with commotion as well. With the clever use of a switching spell Harry had managed to successfully nick three drops of veritaserum. Another switching spell put it in his victim's goblet. With a neatly applied ventriquolism spell he could ask his questions, and the sonorus spell made sure that everyone heard it when Quirrel spilled his beans. While the slippery man managed to escape, it couldn't be hushed up. People knew that Voldemort was about as dead as a dodo... Being a diricawl, that is.

Dumbledore substituted the lessons for a month until they had a honest-to-Merlin hitwizard teach them.

...

It had been a stroke of brilliance when Sirius convinced Harry to pick up the books _Asclepius: Salazar's antithesis or not?_ and _Parseltongue and Healing: the truth to Asclepius' miracles _when he was shopping for his Hogwarts stuff. On is godfather's urging he read those two in public within his first month at Hogwarts. It had the desired effect.

His Hufflepuff house mates who had initially felt uncomfortable were comforted by the idea that their resident Parselmouth could talk to snakes were soothed by the idea that the gift could be used for healing, that and the fact that the species of Harry's pet was also popularly called a 'green unicorn'.

The acceptance of the Hufflepuff house as a whole did a lot to appease the Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws had actually managed to obtain and read the books they had seen Harry reading as well, after which they had heated discussions about parselmouths, and how disturbing a combination between Healing and Necromancy was – that which Asclepius was famed for – until they reached the general consensus that he was far too young to preform such a feats, and before he'd be old/magically gifted enough to pull such stunts off, they'd have a better idea of his character. The reaction from the Slytherins amused Harry the most. It was envy. They didn't understand why the Boy-Who-Lived, a parselmouth, could end up in Hufflepuff of all places. Thus they sneered on the whole idea of a parselmouth who seemed to be enthralled by Asclepius, parselmouth-healer extraordinaire.

With six years of Paddy's coaching in pureblood etiquette Harry managed to ensure that the only people he snubbed were the ones Harry wanted to snub in the first place. The best part was that, as an acknowledged hero sorted in Hufflepuff, it was kind of expected to befriend people in all houses.

…

He managed to stay out of the limelight with the flying lessons, successfully steering clear of the quidditch team, and managed to sign up for three clubs he hadn't even known to exist in his previous stint in Hogwarts.

Those, in combination with the muggle secondary school material he had his aunt get for him, were an excellent way to break the monotony of simply doing tedious homework he already knew and understood.

He managed to snag Hermione Granger as a study-buddy so he also had a measure of what would be acceptable knowledge of of his age and education. He tried to ignore the little voice of reason in his head that screamed he was using an exceedingly liberal measuring stick; he hadn't forgotten the girl had brewed polyjuice, a NEWT level potion, after only a year of subpar potion lessons.

…

After the news went around the castle that Hagrids hut went up in flames _because of a baby-dragon _Harry cursed to himself; he had completely forgotten about that bit. How did Hagrid even come by it? Whom had Quirel got it from in the first place? And how did that person manage to dump it on Hagrid so effortlessly? Another downside came around Christmas. This time, Harry realized, he wouldn't see Quirrel's turban jinxed to have snowballs hit it, courtesy of Fred and George. Not that their snow pranks this time line weren't entertaining.

…

The summer prior to his second school year was rather dull. Because Harry was entertaining the Mason family as well – as the talented nephew that was such a delightful influence on their wonderful son – he didn't meet Dobby at the most inopportune time, and the dinner went off without a hitch.

Dobby got to him at four o'clock in the morning in stead, only to be scared shitless while the constrictor around his neck loosened up and fell on the floor on Harry's command, only to be terrorized by a ferocious growling Grim in stead! Dobby threw the letters at Harry, yelping that _'the Great Harry Potter, Sir'_ was clearly 'great' enough that he didn't need to be saved at all.

While Harry felt physically ill when he and Paddy were dragged in front of a camera while Lockhart hugged him, he withstood the horror. Another switching spell later had him in possession of Tom's horcrux and Ginny in possession of a muggle diary spelled in such a way that her brothers would leave it alone.

…

He and Sirius had dealt with the basilisk while it still was slumbering, and had Kreacher – whom after six years of sporadic service and a destroyed horcrux somewhat respected his not so very dead master – anonymously sell all the parts they didn't want for themselves on the black market.

Coincidentally the diadem of Ravenclaw, badly maimed as it was, would remain forever lost – unless there was another parseltongue that was too nosy for their own good.

…

After the first week of horrors of Lockharts lessons, Sirius decided that as a dead man, he probably wouldn't be caught after casting an imperius and did took it to test. While Lockhart didn't become any less of a narcissistic showman without a lick of sense, the man did have the sudden urge to begin researching – and teaching – spells that would be expected in a Defense Against the Dark Arts course load.

…

Even with all the clubs he did these days, Harry found it difficult to keep himself from going spare as a second year student at Hogwarts. Paddy suggested meditation and occlumency as a stepping stone towards becoming an animagus. Without anything better to do, Harry figured, why the hell not?

…

When Harry, Hermione, Hannah, Su, Blaise, and Neville sat themselves quietly next to a haggard looking, sleeping R. J. Lupin Paddy made a distressed sound, and hid in Harry's sleeve. The snake would hardly be seen that year.

Trying to be considerate of his Godfather, Harry actually didn't seek Lupin out as much as he would have wanted to. It didn't matter too much, Harry consoled himself. After all, he had hardly known the man in his previous life, hadn't he? He did spend his time with Paddy trying to become a animagus himself.

Before the year was out Harry found his form and accessed it. He was a brown bear, if on the smallish side because he was still a growing teenager. The next full moon, he and Padfoot found themselves in the Shrieking Shack, not knowing how to deal with a hyperventilating werewolf on wolfs bane. It was an interesting night and morning.

…

Snape still had a grudge though. At the end of the year, without any provocation at all, he still 'misspoke'. Harry figured that the man must have planed the entire scenario out, seeing it went almost exactly the same way as in the previous time line.

…

While aunt Petunia was a bit miffed she had to sign so many consent forms before she could ship her nephew legally off to a werewolf for the remainder of the summer holiday, it was clear to her that the benefit outweighed the cost tremendously so; and was happy to do it.

Harry was just glad he could spend some quality time with Remus and Sirius, being in the middle of nowhere.

The fact that he had managed to obtain tickets to the Quidditch world cup roughly a year ago was just the cherry on top. Remus, Paddy and Harry enjoyed the match very much. It weren't top box seats, but that didn't diminish the fun.

Afterwards Harry and Sirius were waiting in the forest. A nice bit of teamwork with a 'accio invisibility cloak' and two stunners – to both Barty Junior as Winky – did exactly what it had to do. They found Harry picking Paddy the snake up from the ground. Remus made a good show of fussing over Harry while loudly complaining that his aunt trusted him with Harry's care, and how could he do that if Harry was in the spot of danger? Everybody believed it.

Harry had to employ his occlumency skills to the max as Remus publicly ranted raved and fussed like only parents would, trying not to burst out in laughter, while remembering the last month. While they may have spent the last week on the Quidditch cup campsite, the three weeks previous to that they had spent planning and executing a heist and kidnapping of one Bellatrix Lestrange, her involvement in the retrieval of the Hufflepuff cup from Gringotts, her job as human shield in retrieving the ring of the Gaunt shack, killing her, and last but not least: transfiguring her into a rambler rose and putting it somewhere in a forgotten corner of the Malfoy estate.

…

The first night he spend reunited with all three of the Deathly Hallows he finally had more than vague impressions, Death visited him in a dream. Harry felt as if he were Death's cherished lover. The happiness that bloomed from those feelings put Harry on cloud nine.

…

As Barty Crouch senior was now placed in a Azkaban cell directly across the one that housed his son, Harry didn't think to distrust Alastor Moody. When his name came out of the Triwizard cup again, he realized he had grown complacent. Harry was glad that they had destroyed all the horcruxes except for the one in himself.

…

Hufflepuff didn't know quite well how to react to the fact that their house had two champions. Harry simply decided to splurge and order himself a Firebolt to brush up his flying before the first task. He wasn't amused when the entire Hufflepuff house fell over themselves asking why, for Merlin's sake, he didn't have a place on the house Quidditch team. That Cedric wanted to coach his fellow seeker as his replacement for when he left Hogwarts wasn't nearly as funny as Paddy seemed to think it was. When both Krum ánd Bagman decided to stick their long noses in the matter as well, Harry screamed in a temper that he'd much rather stuntfly or play Quadpod than be a ruddy seeker at Quidditch...

Afterwards Harry lived in a perpetual state of déjà vu, having flash backs to the first time his name came out of the Goblet. He was at least as unpopular as than, if not infinitely more. Luckily, quite a few of the friends he had gathered around himself weren't big Quidditch nuts either, because after the first task almost everyone wanted to see him become Hufflepuff's seeker.

…

All in all, he was glad he had managed to find Luna Lovegood as a friend-date to the Yule ball. She definitely was the good kind of weird. For some reason she looked forward to her role in the second task; apparently the pheromones of merepeople were just right to attract the water variety of the heliopath. A chance she just couldn't miss.

…

Harry managed to reach the cup before the others, and touched it knowing what would happen. He consoled himself in knowing that both Paddy and Remus had several obscure and hard-to-trace tracking spells placed on him.

As the hedges fell and there was no Harry in the maze, Remus immediately confronted Dumbledore, and 'Moody'. Within ten minutes 'Moody' was detained, and Remus off Hogwarts grounds. The man hastily apparated with his 'dog' to the last location the tracking charm gave on Harry.

…

This time it was Yaxley whom assisted Voldemort in his return. Some events just were inevitable, it seemed. Harry didn't duck the pretty green light, this time either.

Death embraced It's master, happy to be reunited, and to see Harry happy as well. It's master accepted his fate, even if he did not know what the future entailed. As per Death's wishes, they had their union and managed to enjoy and know each other quite well in that timeless space. But even then, Harry was meant to walk the earth as Death's husband, not the in-between.

…

As Harry came to, he saw two growling blood covered figures next to him. Padfoot, once more a shaggy dog; and Remus, golden eyes ablaze. When he looked around he saw a death – a carnage that spoke of a rabid dog, and a man somewhat too fond of the reducto curse.

Remus was hailed a hero, the defeater of Voldemort. He was instantly granted custody when he asked for it.

All was well.

* * *

><p>AN:  
>With this 'HP goes back in time story, I tried to be original first and foremost. With the countless fanfics I have read – and my count on ffdotnet alone is over the 2000 – I only remember one fanfiction where any Azkaban escapee at all was transfigured into a snake and turned into Harry's "pet" (an obliviated Bellatrix Lestrange in "a snake named Voldemort" by estalita11); and I only remember one single fic where Remus gets the honor for defeating Lord Voldemort, but for the life of me, I really cannot remember which fic that was, and if it was a matter of convenience of keeping Harry out of the limelight, or that Remus really defeated him. But I was fond of those somewhat original plot twists.<p> 


	14. In Molly's defence!

**In Molly's defence!**

A/N:  
>19-01-2016<br>L.S.  
>Dear loyal readers whom I treasure, this isn't a real update. I've been shuffling my chapters around so they'll match the order in which I'll upload them on my AO3 account under the same name. However, I do hope my next real update will be soon.<br>With much love,

* * *

><p>Molly felt happy, content. The way only mothers could feel, she supposed. Even with the usual stress she had long since come to associate with September the first, she couldn't be happier with the life she had.<p>

A happy, unstressed husband who found true joy in his day job, Two successful oldest sons, who, after graduating Hogwarts with grades she could only hope the rest of her brood would manage as well, had spread their wings and broadened their horizons with jobs out of the country.

Not to mention her darling Percival; while Percy, as everyone would endearingly call him, who had just earned his first Prefect badge. Not that she would have expected anything else from him, he always was such an obedient child.

And while her twins Fred and George were rowdy enough to never hold any dreams of them being Prefects, whenever they weren't pranking they showed they both had a remarkably good head on their shoulders. They truly started to grow up.

Time went far too –

She had to grab Fred at his collar in order to make sure he wouldn't collide with some poor Muggle.  
>No, she really didn't like those masses of Muggles. While she understood the appeal of having some bonding time for the children before they were sorted into their houses, and and equal transport system for the purebloods and Muggleborns, why a train from Kings Cross? The place was always so busy at rush hour.<p>

" – packed with Muggles, of course – " she said absently while trying to steer her Ronald clear of what might have been a collision with yet another Muggle. All the luggage they had to take with them didn't make it any easier. But the children were happily chattering amongst each other. Well, it was better than fighting she supposed.

Letting go of Ronald's shoulder she sighed. That was her youngest son that was leaving the nest for Hogwarts. Time truly went far too fast.

Well, at least her darling Ginny would let herself be coddled, bless her youngest. She still responded truly like a child woud. And for her she would repeat the sentence she had repeated each and every year, ever since she brought her dearest William to the Hogwarts Express for the very first time.

Ah, there they were.

"Now, what's the platform number?" she asked, smiling at the knowing smirks of Percy, Fred and George.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped her youngest.

"Mum, can't I go..."

Molly suppressed a groan. She and Arthur had been hearing this the entire summer, ever since Ron got his letter, and she realized she wouldn't have anybody left to play with.

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first"

Percy, who clearly seemed to enjoy the idea of being the oldest Weasley sibling at Hogwarts, marched through the fake wall. The boy did so well when he was handed some responsibility. It was delightful.

"Fred, you next," she said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. Molly had to hold in a snort. They still thought she didn't see the difference. Probably they wouldn't recognize the parenting artifice of _pretending not to notice_ whatever the child did, and making the child think they pulled their mischief off without the strict parent noticing and punishing them for it until they'd be fathers themselves.

"Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can't you _tell_ I'm George." Fred, the dear child, seemed for all his growing up he had done these last few years, not to realize the two of them were predictable in that _he_ almost always instigated their twin charade.

"Sorry, George, dear." She said, not really wanting to set him straight right now.

In the mean time, the real George was almost through the barrier.

"Hurry up!" those two would never be a patient lot, she thought fondly.

As Fred hurried after his twin and they went through the barrier, she started to turn to Ron – she really didn't like the idea of sending him off already – but was surprised to see a small, shy child in front of her.

Startling green eyes, and black hair, that could do with a comb, she thought absently as she looked better at the boy.

"Excuse me," he said timidly.

"Hullo, dear; first time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons.

And where was whomever was responsible for this child? Young children like these shouldn't be left unattended.

"Yes," the child said. "The thing is – the thing is, I don't know how to – "

"How to get onto the platform?" she asked kindly, realizing the dear child was here all by himself, as he nodded.

"Not to worry, all you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er – OK" said the lonely child.

He pushed his trolley and stared at the barrier with a determined look in his eyes. He started to walk at it, and clearly decided running was indeed a better idea. And just like that, the boy was through.

Molly squeezed the shoulder of her youngest son softly.

"Your turn, Ron."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: the Weasley bashing stories where Hagrid's failure to tell Harry how he should get to platform Nine Three Quarters is used as one of the most condemning pieces of evidence of how Harry's friendship with the Weasley family was all carefully orchestrated by that one sentence that Molly utters..? Please, imho, Hagrid is always portrayed as scatter-brained, and Molly asked that question purely for Ginny's benefit, and no-one else's!**

What do you readers think of Weasley bashing? And the usage of this scene in fanfiction? I'd love to read your opinion!


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